All Expenses Paid
by Gixxer Pilot
Summary: Sequel & NCIS/Transformers crossover. Abby was upset she didn't get to go to Diego Garcia with her team. But when Galloway and his strange new friend start making waves, Abby realizes things might not be as good as they seem.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's (Excessively Lengthy) Note**: This story is a direct spin off/sequel to my multi-chaptered casefile fic, Alienated. You don't have to read that one first, though if you did, it might help with some of the semi-minor details. (Like why Gibbs knows Optimus Prime and what kind of trouble DiNozzo got himself into with Skids and Mudflap.) Plus, I'm rather fond of it, and I like feedback. Anyway, I was told in no uncertain terms that I needed to give Abby more of an appearance than just in the epilogue of Alienated. I agreed, since she _is_ the one that believes in ghosts, aliens and things that go bump in the night. I've also got the location of Diego Garcia correct in this fic.

For those of you that have read any of TenshiofLight21's fic, there's also a little nod to one of her stories here. The story takes place post Revenge of the Fallen in the Transformers verse and in the current season of NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Abby Sciuto sprinted into her lab as fast as her five-inch platform boots would allow. Hurriedly flipping on lights and trying desperately to avoid smashing her legs on tables, she practically threw down her lunch pail and umbrella in her haste. Leaning over her desk, one black painted fingernail mashed the 'speaker' button before the call went to her voicemail.

"Hello?!" Abby answered breathlessly.

A flat monotone met her ears as the voice on the other end of the connection wafted through the speaker. "_Miss Sciuto? The director would like to see you in his office_."

Abby scrunched up her face still panting quietly, still moderately winded from her sprint through the rain and in the door of her lab. "Like, right now? I literally just ran through the door."

"_Yes, I can tell, and right now_," came the bored response.

"Well did he say why? I have work to do," Abby replied, indignant at the unnecessarily rude tone from the director's assistant.

"_No, Director Vance didn't say, and it's not my place to ask. He said meeting, Miss Sciuto, and right now_."

Abby growled unpleasantly. "All right! Tell him to keep his pants on. I'll be up in a minute." Grumbling at the less than wonderful start to her day, she moved about her office to properly store her personal effects. Tossing her lunch in the refrigeration unit outside her office, Abby walked to the elevators to get to the main floor and gave a cold nod to the Director's assistant as she passed by.

"Ah, Miss Scuito. Right on time." Leon Vance leaned back in his chair, the ever-present toothpick sticking out of the right side of his mouth. Abby glanced down to see her employee file from personnel under Vance's folded hands. "Take a seat, please."

Vance motioned for her to sit, and Abby pulled out the chair in front of his desk. "What do you need, Director Vance?"

"How have you been, Abby? Honestly," Leon asked, looking Abby directly in the eye.

Her dark brows furrowing, the forensic tech responded, "Fine, now that Ziva's back and we know she's okay."

Vance nodded. "Good. I wanted to ask you about that. You and Ziva weren't particularly close when she arrived from Mossad. I hear you even had a slapping fight in the bullpen."

Abby chewed her lip in discomfort. "Well, of course I didn't like her. Kate had just been killed, and I thought Ziva was coming in to replace her right away. So yeah, forgive me if I didn't just accept her with open arms, but we eventually became friends."

The Director held out a placating hand. "It's okay, Abby. I understand people change."

She smiled. "Good. Now, what is this about, Director?"

"Well, HR has recently brought to my attention a very serious matter concerning you," Vance replied, deadpanned.

Abby's brain whirled and spun, trying to think of anything that Vance could possibly be holding over her head. The Director's stony face gave her no clue as to what the 'situation' was and her heart began pounding in her chest of its own volition. This was worse than JAG cross-examination! She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Are you firing me?"

For his part, Vance let out a short laugh and hid his surprise well. "Good God, no. I wouldn't do that. You're the best forensic scientist in D.C. and you knock the snot out of those morons at the Bureau. No Abby, someone would have to pry you away from me, kicking and screaming."

Abby inwardly beamed. It was nice to be wanted. She was still confused, however. "Well, if you're not firing me, then why am I here?"

"Are you happy, Abby?"

Abby fixed Vance with a stare that clearly said, '_Well, duh I'm happy!_' Dumbstruck, she voiced, "I'm still here, aren't I? I love NCIS and I love the team."

"Do you ever feel like you need a break?"

"Of course I do, especially when I have McGee, DiNozzo, Ziva, Gibbs and Ducky all coming to me with forensics of some kind that need a rush or are top priority. Do you know how rich I'd be if I had a dollar for every time one of them says, 'Top of the pile, Abby'. It gets to me sometimes, but I handle it." Her words were the honest truth. Abby knew the team loved her like a sister or a father, but sometimes all the demands made of her threatened to swallow her whole. It was in those rare moments she was glad for the camaraderie of the team.

Vance shifted in his chair, crossing his right leg over his left knee. "And that's exactly what has been brought to my attention. Apparently, you have over three months of vacation on the books that needs to be used up in some way or another."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And I'm hoping you'd be agreeable to taking a week off, Abby."

Abby shook her head. "Wait. Just because I said I'm sometimes stressed out doesn't mean I need to abandon my lab and my job. I love it here, I love my job, I love my lab and I'm doing just fine."

"_I_ know that, but I can't reason with HR on issues like this," Vance answered.

"Why not? You're the director of NCIS! Can't you just pay it out or something? I have work to do, and a lab to run." The tone in her voice left no room for argument.

"No, I can't. Not that much. I've gotten HR to agree pay out nineteen days, but the remaining five you need to take. You do that, you're down to three months on the books, and HR is off my back," Vance answered, barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes at the resident bean counters on the third floor. From his response, it was clear that making his employees take vacations was certainly not preferable to catching terrorists and dirty murders.

"No. I don't want to go. Everything is just getting back into place and things are feeling normal again. Just no! No!" Abby's voice was pitching higher with each sentence.

"Abby, I've done everything I can. You need to take this vacation. Look, if it makes you feel any better, the rest of your team is doing the same. Even Gibbs." Vance mentally prayed that the meeting with the former Gunny went well. He had no aspirations to die like his predecessor in a bloody gunfight. At least Shepherd went down swinging for a good reason. "I'll find someone from an agency you trust to watch your lab. Nothing will happen."

"No!"

"Abby…"

"_NO!_"

"I'm going to make it an order, then you won't have a choice. Don't make me go that far, Miss Scuito!" Vance threatened.

Abby huffed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest and a dangerous scowl, probably one learned from Gibbs, plastered all over her face. After a good twenty seconds of staring contest, Abby's features flickered. "Fine. I'll do it, but on one condition."

Vance raised an eyebrow. Trust Abby to start naming her terms with the director of NCIS. "And that is?"

"There better not be any creepy stalker psychos in my lab when I get back, or heads _will_ be rolling!"

* * *

Some days, Abby knew she could be the dumbest smart person on the face of the planet. When Vance had come to her and all but forced her to take a week's vacation away from her lab, she'd gone reluctantly. Now, she was wondering what the hell she'd agreed to. The Director had asked her if her passport was current, and because she was attached to a federal agency, it was. He told her that there was a nifty little place in the Indian Ocean she absolutely must see, and that he'd already arranged transportation and lodging. Too pissed at the moment to care, she'd acquiesced; only later regretful she hadn't grabbed more details.

As the plane descended through the clouds, Abby could clearly make out the workings of a military base. Abby growled in her seat. '_Vance sent me to a military base in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I hope he knows I'm one of the few people on Earth that can kill him and leave not one trace of forensic evidence_.'

By the time the plane landed and she started to disembark, had someone offered up a gun, Abby probably would have used it. Stepping down off the stairs and on to the tarmac, she took her offered bag from the young Private working ground crew with wordless thanks. Abby shielded her eyes from the bright sun with one hand and surveyed her surroundings for her week's stay. Squinting in the distance, she made out two vehicles driving toward her. One was a black Topkick, and the other was gigantic Peterbilt with flames.

Realization struck her like a ton of bricks. Abby squeaked in delight as her eyes registered the sight before her. Dropping her bag, she ran toward the approaching vehicles as they stopped to transform in front of her. Optimus chuckled a deep laugh as Abby's dark pigtails bounced happily off her shoulders. Dropping to his customary one knee, Prime said, "Abby Sciuto. Welcome to Diego Garcia, NEST's permanent headquarters."

Words failing her, Abby settled on wrapping her arms in as big of a hug as her limited human size would allow around Prime's ankle joint. "Oh my God! I had no idea!"

"That was the plan," Ironhide added from her left.

Abby rolled her eyes good-naturedly in the Topkick's general direction. She doubted he'd ever been anything other than a smart ass his entire life cycle. Abby reached to give Prime another hug, but abruptly remembered her sexual harassment training. She pulled her arms back quickly and craned her neck as far up as it would go. "I'm sorry. Permission to hug? Stupid DOD stuff, making me ask before I hug."

Prime smirked. He and the landed Autobots had recently been forced to endure the same workplace sensitivity training as per Department of Defense policy. Apparently, even being a sentient alien robot from the planet Cybertron did not excuse one from having to learn how to be politically correct. The course had ended with predictable but nearly disastrous results. The Autobot commander wondered idly if NCIS had the same problem and made a mental note to inquire about it.

"We heard of your vacation woes, and I thought it might be nice for you to come visit us again. I know you didn't get the amount of time you would have liked the last time we saw each other," Prime explained.

Smiling so big she thought her face might break, Abby momentarily set aside her plans to murder the director of NCIS slowly and deliberately. Perhaps Leon Vance wasn't such a moronic toothpick after all, and Abby resolved to be nicer to him. Even though it was only October, it could be her New Years resolution, and maybe the first of them she'd actually keep. Smiling, Abby hefted her bag over her shoulder accepted the ride from Optimus to the human side of Diego Garcia.

Though she didn't know what the Autobots had on the menu for her visit, she knew it was certainly going to be one _hell_ of a week.

* * *

**Next Up**: Abby gets accustomed to the base and meets Skids and Mudflap. Don't expect another update on this story until after the new year. I'm working on it, slowly but surely, and it's coming together. Slower than I would have liked, but it's getting there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Author's Note**: Four months since the last update??!! Ahh! Sorry, guys. Winter is really not a good time for me, so I apologize for not being able to update. Couple that with some writer's block, and I think you all get the picture. I actually trashed everything I'd written after chapter 1 and started over. Thanks to Laureas for the help with the brainstorming. Sometimes I just need to talk it out, I guess.

For those of you who may wonder, the little stunt in this chapter is (sadly) based off some unfortunate roommates I had in college. Though I found their antics funny, I'm sure neither they nor their parents shared my sentiments, as their actions resulted in about $80,000 in restitution for damages and expulsion from school. D'oh!

**Disclaimer**: Transformers and NCIS aren't mine. Don't sue!

* * *

Diego Garcia, NEST Headquarters

"Ow. Ow. Ow."

Will Lennox was the first guy to admit he found Abby Scuito a little odd, and the two years that passed since he'd last seen the NCIS forensic tech hadn't done anything to alter his opinion. To him, she was a contradiction wrapped up in an enigma with a side of a riddle on a menu written in a different language. She was clearly brilliant, though a little eccentric. But, as the majority of NEST had decided, she was a good, down-to-earth type of a person.

However, as brilliant as Abby was, Lennox was still confused as to what exactly went through her brain, his current observation non withstanding. The Major tilted his head casually to the side, trying his level best to covertly watch NEST's newest guest as he sat down in the mess with his requisite breakfast burrito. Abby was seated at a table across the room, slurping down an obnoxiously large caffeinated beverage while pinching left arm with her right hand.

"Ow. Ow. Ow."

Shaking his head, Lennox stood and walked over to the table before his guest wound up in the infirmary with Ratchet. For purely intrinsic motives of self-preservation, Lennox had no desire to report to Special Agent Gibbs any sort of illness or injury to any NCIS team member. He liked his ass right where it was, thank you very much, and would prefer said ass was not shot off by an irate Gunny.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." Abby's dark brows furrowed with each pinch of her skin, her front teeth gently nibbling on her lower lip.

Will stopped in front of her table and absently fiddled with the cover he loosely held in his left hand. Stumbling to find the right words, Lennox asked hesitantly, "Uh, Abby? Is there a problem?"

Without missing a beat, she responded, "Nope. No problem."

Sighing, Lennox was incredulous. "Then why are you pinching yourself?"

Abby's fingers hovered over her arm in mid-pinch. She looked up at him with an expression of incredulity. "Lennox! Why? Look around! I'm on vacation on the orders of the Director of NCIS, at a secret military base full of giant alien robots! I _so_ must be dreaming!"

Will dropped his head and sighed. "Well, please don't hurt yourself. I don't need your boss tracking me down to kill me because something happened to you."

Her features visibly softened and a small smile graced her dark lips. Gibbs was a little overprotective when it came to his favorite forensic tech. In truth, he was more than a little overprotective, but it wasn't something Abby minded too terribly. "Sorry, Lennox. I'm just having a hard time believing I'm here. This is all so surreal to me, you have no idea."

The Major scoffed a response. "Oh, I think I do, but you'll get used to it. By that point, you'll be wanting to pour sugar into Ironhide's gas tank or reverse the positive and negative contact points on Ratchet's batteries."

Abby shifted in her chair, turning her body so she faced the Major. "You did that?"

Will crossed his arms over his chest. "No, but let's just say the thought was there."

Abby raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment further. Changing the subject, she asked, "So, what can I do while I'm here? I mean, there has to be something computer-related I could do to help. It's what I do, you know."

Lennox nodded, a small smile tugging the left corner of his mouth. "You're on vacation, Abby. Just enjoy it."

"See, that's the problem," she countered. "I don't really dig sitting still all day long, and when I get bored, I start experimenting."

"Experimenting?"

"Well, yeah. There has to be lots of scientific stuff here. I mean, you have Autobots here, for god's sake. And I have a doctorate in chemistry, you know," Abby said nonchalantly.

"You have a…Oh." Will face morphed into one of horror, mentally running an inventory of everything on base that were potentially hazardous in the wrong hands. He really didn't need a human Wheeljack in addition to the _real_ Wheeljack blowing Diego Garcia back to Cybertron. "In that case, I'm sure I can find something for you to do."

Abby bounded up from her seat. "That's great! Do you know I didn't sleep at all last night because I was so excited to be here? I mean, last time I was with you guys was like, _years_ ago and I really didn't get to spend very much time there at all. And now that I'm here for a week, I want to cram as much doing in as I can! When am I ever going to spend a ton of time with giant alien robots again?" Abby's words spilled out of her mouth in a rush as she bounced happily on the balls of her feet.

Lennox sneaked a surreptitious peek at the Caff-Pow still sitting half-consumed on the table and then met Abby's eyes. The two shared an understanding look. "Yeah. I can see that." Will shifted on his feet. Motioning toward her drink, Will asked, "Where did you find that, by the way? I know we don't stock that stuff here."

Snatching the beverage off the table, Abby replied, "I travel with it."

Will scrunched his face up in confusion. "How?"

"Lennox, I'm a scientist. I figured out what's in it and broke it down into powder form. Just add 7-Up and you're good to go." Abby rolled her eyes when Will's expression didn't change. "You've seen the powdered Powerade, right? Same concept, only better."

The Major nodded warily. "Well, do me a favor and keep that away from my soldiers. They don't need it. Red Bull is bad enough. And don't tell Ratchet you have that. God only knows he'd try to dissect it, and then he'd go after you to see what that crap does to your body."

"I'll keep that in mind," Abby said as she took a huge gulp from the gigantic straw, fully intent on fighting Ratchet tooth, nail, and wrench should he try to confiscate her caffeine. "Now, what is it I can do?"

Lennox stroked his chin in thought. After a beat, he asked, "Abby, how good are you at babysitting?"

Abby's eyes lit up. "Kids? I love kids! Every time we have a case that involves a kid, Gibbs sends 'em to me. We had this one case when McGee brought his scout troop into NCIS for a field trip. I ran one of the kids' fingerprints, and it turned out he was kidnapped. Well, he was kidnapped for a good reason, but Carson was like a mini DiNozzo."

Will sighed and rubbed his left ear, his gaze breaking from Abby's. "While I'm sure entertaining anyone as…unique as Agent DiNozzo would be amusing, it's not exactly _kids_ you'd be babysitting."

Abby stood, pressing her hands together and hunching her shoulders. Giving a little bob to her knees, she looked Lennox in the eye and announced, "I'm down for it. I work for Gibbs, remember? Bring it on, Major."

Lennox smirked, chewing on his lip in contemplation. This crazy idea of his just might work. "Then come with me."

A brief ride through the expansive base brought Will and Abby to the outside of the Autobots' housing quarters. Lennox keyed in his entry code next to the human sized door, holding it long enough for Abby to enter with him. Once inside, the Major walked through the spacious entryway and turned left to go down the hallway that gave way to the recreation room.

Since her last visit had been to the temporary satellite base the U.S. government hastily constructed for the visiting Cybertronians, Abby took a brief moment to observe her current surroundings. Though similar in design to the previous building, the Autobots' new home was much more expansive and definitely more swanky. It looked like an upscale apartment complex…for giant alien robots.

Will stopped at the threshold of the rec room. Turning to her, he asked, "Abby, are you sure you want to do this? These two aren't what you would consider normal."

For her response, Abby only raised her hands and shrugged her shoulders. "And what do you think I am? Jan Brady?"

Lennox chuckled, acknowledging his mistake. "Right. I get it." Will tuned the knob on the door, following Abby into the recreation area. "Skids, Mudflap? Front and center."

The forensic tech snorted a laugh when she saw what was taking place in the recreation area. The Trax and Beat were sitting on an Autobot sized couch with what looked appeared to be Playstation 3 controllers. Abby cocked her head to the side, letting out a low whistle at the sight of the multiple, massive high definition flat screen TVs hanging on the wall.

"Wow. Did the Dallas Cowboys ask you for help for the screen for their new stadium or was it the other way around?"

Will scratched his head. "Need to know, Abby, but suffice to say if I don't break my arm while walking out of the room, you can infer that they got the idea from the government. And by government, I mean NEST."

She paused. "So, let me get this straight: you guys engineer a feat of genius like this," Abby said, waving a hand at the enormous display of technology before her, "By hanging a ton of TVs, weighing god only knows how much, and you use it so Autobots can play Call of Duty: Modern Warfare?"

Lennox motioned toward the projection of the game on the screens. Blood was splattering all over the camera lens while the sound of M249 and .50 BMG fire filled the room from the massive speakers. "It's that, or they try to do this in real life. Ironhide and Ratchet don't take too kindly to that sort of thing, if you know what I mean." Sighing, Lennox walked over to the wall. Leaning down, he grabbed the power source for the PS3 and gave it a solid tug. The game blinked, and then died.

"Hey, man! What's wrong wit' you? We was playing here!" Skids tossed his Autobot sized controller down on the ottoman and turned to stare angrily at Will.

The Major was not impressed. Crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his chin down, Lennox shifted his weight to his right foot in a pose of annoyance eerily similar to the one Ironhide so effectively used. All Will was missing was two arm cannons and about fourteen feet of height. "And that's exactly why I killed it. I gave an order, and you two ignored it."

Mudflap looked down. He knew better, but the game was so much fun! "We sorry, Major." Both he and his brother stood and walked around the end of the couch.

His eyes shifting back and forth, Will sized up his resident Cybertronian troublemakers. "Accepted, though don't think I'm going to forget about that. There's plenty of grunt work here to be done, and I think you guys are going to be the 'Bots for it."

Skids groaned. "Man! This is your fault, Mudflap!"

"Why is it always my fault, Skids?"

"Because I said so, and I'm right! It's your fault!" Skids countered.

"No it ain't!"

"Is so!"

"Is not!"

Abby leaned over and whispered in Will's ear. "Are they always like this?"

"Worse, normally. Right now they're just trading insults. They'll usually trade punches, or anything that's not nailed to the floor, up to and including humans."

Surveying the room, the NCIS forensic tech discovered that everything in the recreation area was indeed attached to the floor, wall or ceiling in some fashion.

"We had to take preventative measures, since Ironhide or Prime aren't always around to stop them," Will added from the right, seeing Abby's look of incredulity.

"Right." Planting one hand on her hip, Abby stuck two fingers in the corners of her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The sound bounced heartily off the walls in the rec room, momentarily stunning the sensitive audio receptors of the two 'Bots. But, her objective was satisfied - both ceased movement. Walking up to the arguing twins, she yelled, "Hey! You two! Enough! Don't make me smack you!"

Skids and Mudflap halted in mid-rant. The twins looked down, ready to offline the random squishy who dared interrupt their argument. When they laid optics on Abby, each Chevy instantly forgot what exactly they were arguing about and instead settled on their own brand of unique, warm greeting.

"Hey, hey! Miss Abby from NCIS! We heard you came back and we was wondering when we'd get to hang wit' you! What you been up to?" Skids asked, shoving his brother aside.

"Abby! When did you get--" The red Trax was stopped short as Skids shouldered him aside once more. Mudflap glared. He grabbed his brother's shoulder and squeezed some of the sensitive wiring inside the joint, causing Skids to wince. Seizing the opportunity, Mudflap stomped hard on Skids' foot, eliciting a yelp of pain from the green twin.

Skids hopped up and down on one foot, simultaneously rubbing his sore ankle joint and shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"

Mudflap didn't miss a step. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?!"

Abby was unimpressed. "Hey! You two! Knock it off! Good lord, how does Optimus put up with you?"

Leaning against the wall, Lennox quipped, "He doesn't. He hands them off to Ironhide or Ratchet and _they_ deal with them."

The minute shudder of Skids and Mudflap's frames and brief optic dim didn't go unnoticed by the NCIS forensic tech.

Will pushed off the wall and sauntered towards Abby, a carrot stick he procured from the human kitchen in his hand. The Major leaned in to whisper in Abby's ear, though he was fully aware of the sensitivities of Autobot audio receptors. "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you can still back out. You see what you're up against, right?"

Abby contemplated for a brief moment. Her gaze moved from Skids to Mudflap and back again, both 'bots looking equal parts confused and hopeful. She narrowed her eyes in anticipation and gave a confident nod of her head. "Yeah. Lennox, I told you before. I'm for the challenge."

Will resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. He inclined his head to look both Autobots in the optics. In his best command voice, Will ordered, "Skids, Mudflap, meet your new commander for the rest of the week."

* * *

Will Lennox knew with every fiber of his being it was a very bad idea to leave Bobby Epps unsupervised. Nothing good ever came of Epps being bored, and now that the Sergeant found a new friend in Abby Sciuto, Will was relatively certain the prank wars would never be the same. As he sat at his desk in the command area of NEST, Lennox wondered if the last two years of working with the Autobots had lead to his most recent oversight in judgment concerning his most trusted Sergeant. Because he worked with a bunch of beings from another world, Will discovered that the mundane tended to fall by the wayside in favor of dealing with the here and now.

The Major scrubbed a hand over his face. It was only 1100 and the words were already beginning to blur on the page before him as he thought about the different ways Epps and Abby could be wreaking havoc on his temporary quiet base. Will pushed himself up and away from his desk and took a brisk walk through the warm air of the Indian Ocean. He wandered across the tarmac and through the Autobots' personal living spaces. Hearing excited voices from down the hall, Lennox turned down the hall. When he reached the open doorway, Will could do nothing but shake his head.

Skids and Mudflap were sitting adjacent from each other at the table in their shared quarters. On the surface was a triangular-shaped piece of folded up cardboard about three feet long and two feet wide at the peak of the tip of the triangle. Each twin was taking turns gently batting the makeshift object back and forth across the table. Epps was perched on the windowsill, cheering on Skids while Abby parked herself in Mudflap's recliner, which had been pulled up to the end of the table.

Lennox scratched his head and cleared his throat. "What is going on in here?"

"Lennox!" Abby called. "I'd give you a hug, but I think I'm stuck in this chair."

Will's lips curled briefly upward in a smile before his command mask could catch it. "That's okay, Abby. What are you doing? What is this?"

Epps shook his head. "Sir, don't tell me you ain't never heard of matchbook football before."

Lennox raised an eyebrow.

"Dude!" She turned to the Sergeant. "How can someone go their entire life without playing matchbook football? It's like, the best way to pass time, ever!" At Epps' shrug, Abby continued. "Well, it's simple. You take a piece of paper, or in their case, a piece of cardboard, and fold it up into a triangle shape. Then, you lay it flat on the table and take turns hitting it back and forth. A touchdown, worth seven points, is scored when you get the football to hang over the edge of the table without falling off. There's no punishment for being short when you hit the football, but if you hit it too hard and it flies off the table, your opponent has a chance to kick a field goal for three points."

Skids held up his hands, his elbows resting on the table with the thumb and pointer finger of each hand in an 'L' shape. He pressed his thumbs together while Mudflap picked up the football and set the point of the long side on the table. He flicked it with his pointer finger, the small object sailing cleanly through the target offered by Skids.

The metal image dawned on Will. "Uprights. Got it."

"And they haven't even broken anything," Abby added smugly.

Lennox looked around, belatedly realizing he heard no crashing, cursing, screaming or blaring alarms. Giving an approving nod, he said, "Not bad, Abby. Not bad at all."

"Thank you! Now, back to the game."

Epps scooted over so Will could hop up on the windowsill. Skids was down by three with two plays remaining for each twin. Mudflap gave a crack to his neck wiring and sized up his options. He gave a gentle nudge to the football with his pointer finger, the ball stopping well short of the end of the table. Skids took his turn and launched the little cardboard object clear off the edge. Picking it up, Mudflap lined up for the field goal. With a gentle flick of his finger, he booted the field goal cleanly through the posts.

"You ain't made one of those all day, and you gonna make one now? Man, that's bunk!" Skids complained after his brother sent a perfect attempt through the uprights. "I'm gonna have to use moving uprights now."

"No, Skids, that's cheating!"

"I know, I know."

Epps called out the score. "It's twenty seven to twenty one, Mudflap in the lead."

Mudflap took his turn again, and as before, he was short. Skids narrowed his optics in concentration and sent the small football spinning across the table top. This time, the front third of the football spun to a halt off the edge of the table. The green Beat looked triumphant.

"Oh yeah, oh yeaah, I win, I win!" Skids jumped out of his seat and began the celebration, mimicking Chad Johnson's Riverdance end zone celebration he'd seen earlier on YouTube.

Growling, Mudflap launched himself at his brother, the twins rolling across the floor in tangle of limbs and insults. As they struggled, Skids managed to wrench Mudflap's right arm behind his back. The green Beat dug his fingers into the crook of his brother's elbow, the back of his hand brushing the manual release for the safety of Mudflap's cannon to the 'off' position. As he squeezed harder, Skids barely managed to react in time to avoid the accidental discharge of the cannon he'd accidentally activated. The shot rang out in the twins' quarters, bounced off the walls before finally settling on a home in the ceiling. Skids, Mudflap, Abby, Lennox and Epps all watched as a chunk of the cement from the ceiling dangled precariously above the sprinkler head before finally detaching and smashing the sprinkler's float.

It was only when the alarm started blaring and water began cascading down in heavy sheets by the metric ton did the twins realize that they were, once again, very, very slagged.

* * *

Optimus Prime knew the calm at Diego Garcia was too good to last.

It had been three Earth months since the insanity of Egypt, The Fallen and all the emotional baggage that went along with it. Upon his return to Diego Garcia, Prime felt a certain tenseness about the base. He surmised it had much to do with his death, resurrection and defeat of The Fallen and Megatron. The giant leader could also hypothesize the unknown fate of the remaining Decepticons had the human leadership on edge. But, Diego Garcia needed to function, and Prime did his best to run the base as usual. It was just slightly unnerving that everyone insisted upon walking on eggshells for fear Prime may up and disappear in a poof of smoke.

After a very stern warning from Ironhide and Ratchet, the base had settled into a sense productivity actually becoming of a military operation. For the last month, every 'Bot and human had been perfectly well behaved. Other than the occasional argument, there had been no explosions, brawls or fires, shooting range accidents or driving course mishaps. No civil tickets had been issued to any humans or Autobots by the local police authority. Diego Garcia's previous year's _budget_ had even been deemed acceptable by the NEST bean counters. All in all, Optimus thought the last month had been a bit eerie, to say the least.

Though he'd be loath to admit it, Prime felt a sense of normalcy beginning to return as the base's safety codes scrawled across his HUD in neat Cybertronian script. '_Fire suppression systems activated, Autobot personal quarters, section Delta 6'. _Hearing the wailing alarm from the command center, Prime jumped from his post at Ops, slammed himself as quickly as dared into his alt mode, and sped off toward the Autobot hanger. As he pulled up and transformed, he wasn't sure if the proper response was to laugh or hit something.

Ratchet had been abundantly clear on two things during the construction of Diego Garcia: one, the medic got whatever he wanted for medbay, with no expenses spared. Two, the entire base needed to have some sort of fire suppression system to combat the works of Wheeljack or Ironhide. Both requests were the only two that Prime had immediately signed off on, with no questions asked. Secretly, Optimus thought it was easier to find the money elsewhere in the base's construction budget than to deal with The Medic Scorned.

Ratchet's fire suppression system was not the most technically advanced in design, but it was a feat of self-sufficiency. The system used an 80/20 mixture of water and foam, the water recycled from the NEST showers and kitchens, filtered several times over and then pumped into large holding tanks where it was continually recycled. The storage tank itself was an underground converted Olympic-sized swimming pool, left there by the previous occupants of the area.

Prime stepped into the hallway of section Delta 6 of the Autobot personal quarters, all the while dodging evacuating, angry, and wet NEST officers. Water rained down on his head, coating his entire body with a weird mix of foamy water. It seeped into every crevice, and Prime knew it was going to be hell trying to scrub it out once it dried. The last of the stragglers behind him, Optimus was left to face the culprits. Unsurprisingly, the Autobot leader found himself staring at a contrite Skids and Mudflap who were presently being dressed down by an equally irritated trio of Abby, Epps and Lennox.

"Are you guys for real? I mean, how can matchbook football lead to this?" Abby gestured with one arm, the other still crossed over her chest. Her black ponytails were flattened against her skull, eyeliner and mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks. "Tony breaks stuff. Gibbs is destructive, but even those two combined couldn't pull of this crap!"

"And I just bought these boots, man. They were just starting to break in!" Epps whined from Abby's left.

Will caught the glint of red and blue through the typhoon of water pelting his face. Muttering softly, he said, "Someone tell me why I left my nice, dry desk again?"

Prime stepped forward, his "command" tone cutting through the sound of falling water. "Perhaps questions and apologies are best served for later. Right now, Major, I think the wisest course of action may be to clear the area to ensure no one is left behind."

Lennox snapped into command mode. "Right." Looking toward Epps, Will said, "Sergeant, after this, you won't ever be able to tell me all those safety drills were a waste of time."

"Yes, sir!" Epps said sarcastically and trotted off to begin his head count. Ironhide, hearing the alarm, rolled nonchalantly into the area with a look of poorly masked annoyance on his faceplates and reluctantly started his duties as Epps' help.

As the group of humans and Autobots sloshed their way out of the torrential downpour, one large hand came down on each of Skids and Mudflap's shoulders. A deep baritone boomed from above them, flat and imposing. "And where do you two think you're going?"

Mudflap was nervous. "Uh, to help Ironhide, Boss Bot. He gonna need us."

"I am confident that Sergeant Epps will be all the assistance Ironhide will need. I know you two are behind this, so you will sit. And you will not move until I tell you to." Optimus pointed one silver finger in the direction of the hallway where most of the water was draining.

Skids whined. "But it's wet over there!"

Optimus tilted his head, his optics flashing bright blue before he could stamp down his exasperation. Composing himself, Prime said, "You will sit. And you will wait. If not, I will let Ironhide use _you_ as the decoy drones, something he's always wanted to do. May I remind you the only reason he has yet to try is because I've actively halted every one of his attempts."

Both twins' engines whined. "Uh, we'll sit right there, Boss Bot. No need to worry about us!" Skids said with a shaky chuckle. The Chevy twins wandered over toward their 'time out corner' and searched for a chunk of wall to lean against that didn't look like it had swallowed a good portion of the Indian Ocean.

"Good. Now, don't move. I mean it, you two," Optimus scolded. Turning around, the Autobot leader bit down a grin when he heard a quiet argument begin in earnest over how exactly they would be punished.

Lennox and Prime set up shop right in the recreation room, which mercifully was part of another zone of the fire system and by extension, dry. They began a quick headcount via radio or comm. system, ensuring the safety of each Autobot and human. Epps, Ironhide and Abby wandered back in a few minutes later, the NCIS tech missing her makeup but otherwise divested of her soaked and most likely ruined clothing. When the two commanders were satisfied no one remained in the quickly flooding personal quarters, Optimus turned his attention to the water system.

"Major, do you have any idea how we shut that water off?"

"No clue. It's never really come up, and I guess I've never asked. That's my fault." Will wracked his brain for the solution and scratched his head, droplets of water flying off the spikes of his hair. He made a mental note to remedy any random outstanding questions he had about the base with the engineers as quickly as possible. There would not be a repeat of this embarrassment. Sighing, Will conceded defeat. "I think the 'how' would be a Ratchet thing."

"Oh, no. I only requested the system. I didn't design it. You're looking at the wrong 'Bot," Ratchet grumbled. Apparently being summoned from his medbay to help deal with yet another twin-induced incident brought out the best of the medic's snarky personality. "I suggest you start with the utilities room, right off the main hallway. I'd think that'd be the logical place to start."

Abby shrugged. It was worth a shot. She walked over toward the entrance of the building and located the correct door. "Hmm. It's locked." Calling over her shoulder, she shouted, "Does anyone know where the key is for this thing?"

Epps rolled his eyes. When the Terror Twins were involved, the Sergeant knew to count on the unexpected, and whether that was problems or laughs, he hadn't quite made up his mind. He was, however, quite pleased he was usually around to see the aftermath. It made for good entertainment, was great for morale, and had made him a pretty penny, though the last part was strictly off the record.

"Augh! All right, make a hole, people." Will began elbowing human soldiers and Autobots aside, pushing his way through the rapidly gathering throng of onlookers. He was going to find the key to the door, or find the person who had it before he lost any more time dealing with Twin nonsense.

Ironhide, equally tired of wasting his day putting out yet another figurative fire started by the Terror Twins, activated Barrett and fired the smallest round he had at the flimsy door. The door, and practically the room, exploded in movement and angry shouts as smoke and debris rained down on top of the remaining occupants. The walls of the room shook briefly under the stress. Ironically, the water system didn't activate. Smug, 'Hide held up the smoking Barrett and quipped in the most horrid butchery of an Italian-American accent Abby had _ever_ heard, "Yeah. We don't need no fragging key."

Epps laughed. "Somebody better reset the, 'This base has been accident free for 2 days,' sign to, 'This base will _never_ be accident free!'"

Lennox stopped dead in his tracks. "Thank you, Sergeant. That is all." Turning on his heel, he sighed at the sight. The door the fire control room was completely obliterated, in its place only jagged pieces of metal, probably something that had once comprised the door's frame.

Optimus looked heavenward, letting out a little cycle of his vents in agitation. He turned to face his weapons specialist and vowed not to string him up by his feet ad dangle him over the Laurentian Abyss as punishment. "When Major Lennox said, 'Make a hole,' I don't think he particularly meant in such a literal fashion, Ironhide."

While the men argued over who was more at fault, Abby wandered into the destroyed room and began picking her way through the charred debris littering the floor. She groaned out loud when she saw the remains of the server lying in pieces scattered about the room. "Ironhide! You blew the server up! Now we won't be able to shut the water down!"

All conversation stopped as soon as the words were out of Abby's mouth. 'Hide looked genuinely contrite as he processed her words. Never a mech of many words, Ironhide eventually settled on a simple, "Uh, oops?"

Ratchet was irate. "'Oops' is all you can say? You moronic, trigger-happy afthead! There's 600,000 gallons of water flowing into our quarters, our _personal_ quarters and you've blown the slag out of the only thing that'll shut the water down! Now what are we supposed to do? You do remember that, since we evacuated everyone, safety protocol dictates those doors stay shut. Need I remind you that _my_ quarters is currently being flooded out?"

Some days, Optimus wondered why he hadn't told Alpha Trion to shove it when he was being made Prime. The big 'Bot rested his hands on the table before him and spoke in a low, calming voice. "We have no choice but to let the water run its course. When the pool is empty, we will bring in the pumps and being pumping the water back out of the affected areas. Until then, we wait." Prime turned his glare over towards Skids and Mudflap, both dutifully sitting in the corner. "And while we're waiting, I _will_ think of an appropriate punishment for you two."

* * *

"This is disgusting. I can think of a million other things I'd rather be doing than sifting through the water logged remains of an the Autobots' personal quarters," Corporal Palladora whined.

"Stow that shit, Corporal. Just be glad you ain't Skids and Mudflap. You wanna let Annabelle Lennox paint flowers and hearts all over you in girly permanent colors, be my guest," Epps admonished. "Besides, I thought you would have learned your lesson after the Chair of Doom incident."

Palladora swallowed hard. "Right, Sarge. I was just complaining out loud. That's all."

Epps straightened to his full height, doing his best to exude authority. "See that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, Sergeant." Palladora sighed and went back to his work. Turning towards Abby, he asked, "Why are you here?"

Abby straightened and removed the mask from her mouth. "I'm on vacation, duh!"

Palladora rolled his eyes. "Exactly. You're on vacation. But that's not what I meant. I mean why are you _here_?" Palladora made a gesture with his hands, motioning to the general vicinity of the room. "Why are you helping us clean up?"

A shrug and a smile graced Abby's lips. "I guess I kind of feel responsible, since I did teach them the game." She stopped to think. "Though, I'm not sure how that'd be my fault, seeing that matchbook football is like, the most benign game on the face of the Earth."

"Abby, those two would make poker a full contact sport," Epps said from across the room.

"Well, I thought it was the right thing to do, you know. You guys needed help and I'm an extra set of hands."

"And we thank you for that. I'm sure you'd rather be doing something else," the young Corporal added.

"Sure, of course. I'd rather be working with a computer, but this is just fine. I'm here, and that's good enough for me," Abby said, picking up a wrecked data pad and tossing it into the pile with the others.

Epps dropped his cleaning supplies and grabbed a chair. "Break time." When Abby and Corporal Palladora did the same, Epps asked, "Abby, what exactly do you do for NCIS?"

She dropped her mask from her face to around her neck. Scratching at her spider web tattoo, Abby answered, "Forensics, mostly. Lots of chemistry. But, I also do computer stuff when McGee's not around or if he gets stuck. He's better than me, though I'll deny that to my dying breath if you repeat that, but I can still hold my own against him."

Epps' eyes lit up. "Computer stuff? Like hacker shit?"

Abby nodded. "Yeah. Like I said, I'm not McGee, but I know my way around places."

"Hey, I'm curious. Let's do a little experiment. I'll bet you that you can't hack into NEST. Lennox tells me our system is really secure, but I think there's always a way to exploit it. I want to know if it can," Epps said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Why?" Abby queried. "Don't you have clearance?"

Epps leaned back against the wall. He lifted his hand up and peeled the remains of a waterlogged orange from the palm of his hand, lips curling in disgust as he tossed the item haphazardly toward the mountain of trash. "Of course I have clearance. We all do, to a certain point. But, I wanted to see if someone who knows about this base who doesn't have clearance could find a way in. You know, testing for security's sake and all that."

Abby narrowed her eyes, her mouth twisting in a little grin of anticipation. It was logical, it was computers, and above all, it would be fun. "Sergeant, you have a deal!"

* * *

**Next Up**: The plot finally starts! Abby discovers what the term "unauthorized access" really means, and everyone's favorite political liaison makes his presence known.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: Apparently, I lied. This story just keeps growing. I'm not sure how long it's going to end up being, but I don't think it'll be as long as Alienated. It's just…longer than I intended. In this chapter starts the plot, so things should move along at a good clip from now on. Keep in mind that this fic is set just a few weeks after the events of Revenge of the Fallen. It's important for the characters' states of mind. I also want to give a shout-out to my awesome beta, Anasazi Darkmoon. You rule!

I am not a hacker, nor would I ever want to be. I don't endorse, promote, or encourage any type of illegal behavior. That said, I know nothing about hacking, so if I got it wrong, apologies in advance. Hopefully the spirit is right as I intended it. Finally, Epps' colorful description of everyone's favorite political liaison is not mine. That little gem is all Tenshi Of Light21's. It's layered in awesome.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Transformers or NCIS though I sorely wish I did.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Diego Garcia, NEST Headquarters

His entire life, Bobby Epps had always been a man of action. As a child, he was the first kid picked for every sport he played. As a young man, if something needed to be done at home or at school, he was the first one to do it. But as an adult, Epps found his calling with the military. It combined both his love for physical activity and deep hatred of idleness into a perfect balance of a violent ballet. In short, it fit him to a 'T.'

Bobby's specialty was of the 'aim and fire' variety, not of the 'point and click' nonsense. But, both employed and alive were two good things, so Epps figured it couldn't hurt to maybe learn something new. Then again, at the rate Abby Scuito moved, perhaps it would be the wiser choice to just stick with what he knew best.

Epps poked his head into the vacant NEST technology center and catalogued his options. Maybe this was the one time he could actually thank Skids and Mudflap for being the epic diversion they naturally were. All available hands were elsewhere, helping to clean up the slog that was currently the Autobots' quarters. The Sergeant ushered Abby in and motioned to a chair.

"Epps, why did we have to come in here? I have my own laptop with its own internet connection, you know," Abby said, taking a seat in a swiveling desk chair. She unpacked her laptop from its case and set up the various accessories.

Bobby shrugged. "I dunno. I thought maybe this would be more comfortable. Don't you hackers have to be in the mood, or something?"

Abby, sitting in the chair with her back toward the standing Epps, said in a neutral tone, "Yellow light, Sergeant."

Epps scratched his head. "Yeah. That came out wrong. See, what I mean was, well…"

Abby spun around in her chair and smiled. "I was joking. I see you had to go through that stupid sexual harassment training, too. Did they yell at you about hugging, too?"

Epps breathed a sigh of relief and then laughed. "I dunno. I didn't have to go. But I did hear that hugging ain't cool any more, and I think that's just lame."

Abby's face lit up. "You, too? Seriously, when I got here, I hugged Optimus out of reflex. Well, I think I hugged his ankle because he's like, huge, but I hugged him. And then I remembered, and I wanted to hurt the people that are responsible for that. It totally sucks!"

Epps barked a laugh. "That it does, Abby. Now, let's get down to business."

Abby spun back around in her chair. Cracking her knuckles, she said, "Yes, lets. So, what's my objective."

Epps quirked an eyebrow. "To hack NEST. I thought we had that part covered."

"No, I know that! But I mean, what am I looking for? There has to be something specific I'm after, otherwise it's no fun."

The Sergeant looked momentarily perplexed. "What do you mean?"

Chewing gently on her lip, Abby answered, "Well, it's like when I'm hacking a movie company--" She stopped abruptly, eyes darting around the room. "Not…that I'd ever do that, but let's say that if I figuratively hacked a movie company, I'm not just going to hack them for the hell of it. I'm going in to look for a movie that's premiering next month, only I don't want to wait to see it."

"Okay…"

"What I'm saying is, you need to be more specific. I mean, I can get in I'm sure, but if you really want me to test this, I need something to fish for."

Epps shook his head in comprehension. "Well, you heard all about your team's last little adventure with us. How about searching for the specifics on that?"

"Now, that's something I can do. Just let me work my magic, and we'll just see what I can find." Abby rubbed her hands together, blew on them for good luck and went to work. "Watch and learn."

Abby's fingers danced over the keyboard, pushing the data back and forth over the multiple screens she had pulled up on the plasmas in front of her. Epps' eyes began to glaze over when he tried to decipher the lines of code and "geek speak" scrawling before him. Would it be too terribly much to ask for plain old English? He settled instead of grabbing a soda from the small refrigerator kept handy. Yes, it was _definitely_ wiser for him to stick to what he knew best.

For her part, Abby was in her element. She had to hand it to NEST's nerds, for they had done a fairly spectacular job of fortifying the security files. But, they hadn't counted on someone who was as persistent as she was brilliant trying to hack the secret government installation on a dare for one of NEST's insiders. Abby had been cautious to cover her tracks as best she could, less she endanger Bobby's career for a silly bet. In the time she'd been working, she'd managed to breech the main system, hack the firewalls and worm her way into the main server. Now, she was just rooting around, attempting to find the information on NCIS' last encounter with the Autobots and their human allies.

After sitting for a nearly an hour doing nothing but hoping to avoid a massive, technology-induced migraine, Bobby's guilt got the better of him. He alternately cursed Prime for giving him a conscience when it came to delegating his work to others, and thanked the senior Autobot for being such a good example. He stood and stretched, feeling the blissful sensation of all the tightened vertebrae in his back popping to a little symphony of relief. "I'm going to go over and check on the clean up, Abby. I'll be back in about a half hour."

Abby bobbed her head once in acquiescence, not breaking from her work.

As Epps' left foot made the threshold of the door, Abby's yell stopped him cold. "Sergeant! Get your ass back in here, _now_!"

* * *

The quarters to Prime's personal quarters opened with a gentle swoosh. Optimus was already seated behind the massive desk in his personal office, Ironhide and Ratchet each occupying one large chair adjacent from the Autobot leader. Bumblebee rolled through the door in his alt mode with Lennox and Epps inside. Under his leader's orders, 'Bee had picked them up with as little fanfare as he could manage from the human side of the base after shift change. Abby was perched carefully on the edge of Prime's desk, her free-swinging heels lightly tapping the edge of Prime's desk.

The NEST members exited Bumblebee, the yellow scout transforming into his bipedal form as soon as his human charges were clear.

"What's the deal with this emergency meeting, Prime? Sarah and I had a date tonight," Lennox asked as he found himself a seat on the human furniture Prime kept in his office.

"I apologize for spoiling your plans for the evening, Major, but this meeting was one I did not call personally. It was a request from your Sergeant," Optimus responded, tilting his head toward Epps.

Lennox turned to face his subordinate. Bobby was going to _die_ for cutting into the very little 'alone time' he got with his wife. Not only did they have a date in the truest, most old-fashioned sense of the word, they were also sans child as Annabelle was staying with Sarah's mother for the weekend. Will glared murderously at his long time friend. "And this couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

Abby, chewing nervously on her fingernails, answered before Epps even had a chance. "No, Lennox. It can't, and after you're done listening to what I have to say, you'll be glad I called you down."

Will sighed, resigning himself to a night on the couch with a beer and some cold pizza instead of the spectacular plans he had previously made. He didn't bother hide his grumble, though he acquiesced. "All right. You have my attention. What's happening this time?"

Not wasting any time, the young Goth went straight to business. Perhaps it was all the years spent with Gibbs taught her the importance of cutting to the chase. "I was the one that called this meeting. Well, I told Epps we needed to talk, but I didn't tell him why. I wanted to wait until everyone was here."

"And that would be why, exactly?" Ratchet quipped. Though the medic didn't have spectacular plans as Lennox had, sitting in his boss' office late on Friday night was not the way he'd envisioned the start of his weekend.

Abby took a deep breath. "You guys have a problem. A security problem."

Ironhide's audios perked up at the thought of unauthorized intruders meandering about unchecked around NEST's headquarters. This was _his_ base, and no one got on or off without him knowing about it. 'Hide prided himself on his success as not only Prime's bodyguard, but as the protector in general of all Autobots. He took each failure personally, and worked hard to ensure it didn't happen again. "What kind of problem?"

Abby looked over toward the massive weapons specialist and chuckled. It didn't take much to rile up the imposing black mech. Once again, however, Gibbs had taught her well. The first trick of dealing with her boss is to never be intimidated, a personality trait which apparently filtered through to being summarily unimpressed by a large, cannon toting, trigger happy, towering alien robot. "Heel, Ironhide. This is not the kind you're thinking of, dude. This is a computer issue."

Ironhide, confused, reflexively twisted around and tried to take a look at the backside of his ankles. It made for quite a sight. Turning back around, he put his hands on his hips and asked, completely serious, "What's wrong with my heels?"

Ratchet snorted loudly, Bumblebee synthesized a laugh and Will and Lennox both bit down their chuckles. Optimus' only response was to raise one optic ridge in questioning amusement.

Abby laughed out loud. "I heard you made friends with Ziva. This couldn't be more fitting! She has word troubles just like you!"

"Prime, maybe you should ask Sam to bring Mojo to the base so 'Hide here learns what 'heel' means," Ratchet said with a flippant wave of his hand.

Ironhide's optics dimmed momentarily, his processor searching the term's correlation to the Witwicky's pathetic little lubricating rodent. Finding he meaning, the grizzled warrior's optics narrowed. Pointing one large black finger at the medic, he growled, "If you weren't the one that put us all back together, I'd shoot you in the aft right now just for thinking it."

Prime cleared his vocalizer to stall the argument before it truly gained steam. "Ratchet, Ironhide, if we could get back to the task at hand? I would prefer that my quarters be left intact. I think we've had enough fun cleaning up for one day, don't you agree?"

Both medic and weapons specialist gave one final glare to the other and resituated themselves to continue the briefing. Epps and Lennox worked to slow their breathing, each man staring off at some indiscriminate point over Prime's helm to keep the laughter from beginning anew. Lennox had to live with Ironhide, and Epps didn't want to add one more reason to the list of why he could be squished by an angry giant alien robot.

Satisfied his troops were fully contained, Optimus looked toward Abby. "Go on please, Ms. Sciuto."

She continued, choosing her words carefully. Epps was turning into something of a friend, and Abby didn't relish throwing him under the bus. Vague was likely the best course of action here. "When we were cleaning up, Epps asked me to check the security of the NEST files. I did, and I found that someone recently hacked into the file with the details surrounding NCIS' involvement with you guys a couple of years ago. Specifically, it was regarding someone named Barricade."

The senior Autobots all looked nervously at one another. Ratchet shifted to place his elbows on his knees. "Can you tell us anything else? Did they find anything?"

"I don't know yet because I haven't figured out what they were looking for. I don't have access to your files, and I would need that in order to be able to tell you what was accessed, and when," she responded. Abby paused, sheepish since she had just admitted to hacking yet another federal entity. "Well, I don't need total access, but it would make things go quicker."

Optimus prided himself on being a mech who could see the bigger picture, and knowing what exactly was going on with the NEST files was more important that Abby's breach of professional etiquette. Without hesitation, Prime answered, "You shall have it. I will give you full access to this base and its files if you can find who this intruder was. We cannot risk any more of our secrets getting out to the general public. After all that had happened with The Fallen…" the Autobot leader trailed off. There was no need for further exposition. The room took on a tense silence, every NEST operative reliving the Egyptian fiasco in their minds.

"Well, what _can_ you tell us right now? Anything else useful?" Lennox asked.

"I can tell you that whoever did it wasn't very good. Like, it was complete amateur hour. They tried to cover their tracks, but it was so sloppy it was totally clear that someone was in there, rooting around for something. I can also tell you that whoever it was spent the most time on the pages with the information about Barricade's remains, whoever that is."

Ironhide's gruff voice cut across the room. "Do you know who the intruder is, Abby?"

"I do, but I don't. Whoever it was probably paid someone to get him in, and then did the rest of the rooting around himself. Afterwards, he probably had the original hacker go in and do clean up. That's likely why that part of it was so half-assed," she answered.

"How long will it take you to figure it out? I would suspect someone like you would have done it already," Ratchet snipped.

The young lady cocked her head to the side and placed her hands on her hips. Ratchet's words sounded dangerously like a challenge, and Abby was not one to take the questioning of her professional abilities with a grain of salt and a smile. Her tone equally as harsh, Abby replied, "I didn't do anything else because I'm not just going to snooping around without talking to you guys first. If this turns out to be nothing, people _are_ goingto find out what I did. And with your track record," she gestured toward the Autobots, "you don't need any more help pissing humanity off."

Optimus brought his right hand up to rest on his cheek. He had to give the young lady points for being wholeheartedly unafraid to tear strips off Ratchet without a second thought. Most humans ran screaming from the cranky, wrench-tossing medic, but Abby was not, even in the tiniest of ways intimidated. Prime was inwardly pleased. "Ms. Sciuto is correct, Ratchet. It was wise of her to consult us first. We don't want to attract any undue attention if we can avoid it."

Looking smugly at the Autobot medic with a, 'so there' expression on her face, Abby reached into her pocket and produced a slip of paper.

Ironhide focused his sensors, trying to get a accurate scan of what the young forensic tech had in her hands. "What is that, Miss Sciuto?"

With her head still down, she replied, "It's Abby, and I took the liberty of running some traces. I was able to figure out who the hacker was, and then I cross-referenced his name with all known contacts from NEST. I got one hit."

"And who might that be?" Ratchet asked.

Abby looked up and searched the room until she found Prime's optics. Staring into them, she asked one question. It brought the room to screeching halt.

"Who is Norman Galloway?"

* * *

Will circled the base for a second time. Dawn had yet to break, and already Lennox had gone four miles. His feet pounded hard against the pavement as drops of sweat fell from his face. Breathing labored, the Major increased his pace to an all out sprint along the backside of the old hangers. When he was upset, there was only one thing that helped calm him down, and that was a good, hard run. And because of the level of annoyance perpetuated by any meeting involving Norman Galloway, that good, hard run had turned into a very _long, _good, hard run.

In the distance, a yellow search and rescue Hummer and a flame-patterned Peterbilt sat in their alternate forms, quietly observing the young human commander.

:Do you think this has anything to do with that annoying twit Galloway and Lennox's meeting with him this afternoon, Prime?: Ratchet asked over the internal comm, breaking the silence.

:I would venture to guess that is exactly what has Major Lennox so upset. A man with that much political power and an ego to match is a very tough adversary.:

:That's one way of putting it.: Ratchet scoffed, his disdain for Galloway quite clear. :Still wish Will had given the fragger a parachute that wouldn't open, Prime. Would have saved us all a lot of trouble.:

Optimus growled lightly into the comm. :Ratchet, you know the rules. We--:

The medic cut Prime off. :..Don't harm humans. Yes, I know that, Prime. But nothing good will come of this, I assure you.:

:That's quite probable, Ratchet.: Optimus paused. :Now, shall we go stop the Major before he runs himself into a heart attack?:

:He'll be fine, Prime. I've had my sensors on him this entire time. He's in no danger of anything other than the need--:

Ratchet stopped in mid-sentence as Will abruptly halted his run. Lennox bent over at his waist and rested the palms of his hands on his knees. He coughed and choked a couple of times before promptly throwing up what the mess had served the night before onto the pavement below.

Ratchet cycled his vents before rolling slowly away from Prime. He finished his thought through the comm. as a farewell to his leader. :…to purge:

Optimus turned over his ignition and decided to take a little drive himself. Perhaps a trip around the outskirts of the base would give him the mental strength to work professionally with Galloway once again.

Prime exhaled a hard, hot burst of air, a bit of Ratchet's snark coming through the normally placid leader. '_And Megatron will agree to peace tomorrow_.'

* * *

Norman Galloway waltzed confidently into the meeting area in the NEST tactical hanger. He entered the very same hanger he'd been in months previous before Egypt, before the Fallen, and before the entire world knew about the visiting Cybertronians. His posture still held the same cocky swagger of months' past, though his eyes had hardened more around the edges. Norman had a singular goal in mind this time, and he'd be damned if some annoying twit in a uniform was going to keep him from getting it.

It was a very reluctant President who had issued the order to reinstate Galloway as liaison to NEST, something that made the politician in Norman very smug. It had taken a lot of convincing, cajoling and some deal-making, but he was back where he should be. Now, he was facing the same group again, but this time it was he who held the upper hand.

Galloway looked around as he walked up the stairs to reach the platform that was NEST ops. Reaching the top, he noticed Major Lennox was present, along with his annoying sidekick Sergeant Epps. The big red and blue Autobot was there as well, though Norman couldn't be bothered to remember his name. Two more vehicles sat in the shadows, presumably listening to the conversation. Squinting, Galloway thought he saw movement in passenger area of the Hummer, but dismissed it just as quickly as a trick of the hangar's poor lighting.

Will, freshened up from his early morning run and with no traces of the hell he'd physically put himself through visible, greeted Galloway with a cool detachment when the liaison reached him. It was the one reserved for his high school math teacher and most Decepticons with whom he'd made contact. "Liaison Galloway. To what do we owe this dubious honor?"

Galloway pushed his jacked aside, resting his hands on his hips in a similar motion the one he'd used when he'd first met the Autobots. "I have orders from the President, gentleman. You all made one hell of mess over there in Egypt, and now we have no choice but to admit what's been going on here. We've got to do some damage control."

Epps, leaning casually against the railing, spoke. "So make something up. You politicians are good at lying. It's second nature!"

"Thank you Sergeant. Perhaps you'd keep quiet this time. You know what I think of you," Galloway cut in, his tone cold and condescending.

Epps took one challenging step forward. He brought his hand up and pointed his right index finger at the politician. "Keep talking, and I'm gonna show you how good I am at my job!"

Lennox put a hand over Epps' chest as Prime shot the enlisted man a look of warning. The Autobot leader's voice had a calming effect on the Sergeant, and on Lennox as well. "Sergeant, calm down."

Epps sneered at Galloway and threw up his hands. "All right, dude. I'm out. I don't want to do something I'll regret, and he ain't worth it." Giving Galloway one good glare as he passed, Bobby's footsteps clambered down the metal stairway and tromped out the door of the tactical hanger.

Will sighed. Epps did have a bit of temper, but the Sergeant usually showed it with his reflexively sarcastic mouth, not his fists. Most of the time it was a blessing, but in cases of Washington politicians, it could also be a curse. "Can we just get on with this, Galloway? I've got things to do today."

Norman smirked. "Yes, of course. I wouldn't want to keep you from your duties here at NEST." Turning, he paused for dramatic effect. He raised one hand in the air before speaking again. "But, I don't know for long that will last."

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Will was agitated. The prick in the monkey suit knew exactly what buttons to push and with how much force, a fact that was beginning to disturb the Major.

Galloway tossed one finger up in the air. "Aha. You see, therein lies the problem. The President has his hands tied now, since The Fallen broadcast worldwide for that child's location. We cannot explain that away, so he needs…how shall I put it? Incentive to let your friends stay on Earth."

Optimus beat Will to the punch, the Autobot leader's habitually warm baritone cold and irritated. "Mr. Galloway, with all due respect, the "child's" name is Sam, and though I regret the circumstances under which our existence has been revealed, the young man did save the planet. In doing so, he was gravely injured himself. Please do not forget that sacrifice."

Galloway nodded, though his eyes held a glint of contempt for the Autobot leader. "Oh, right. And he brought you back, too, didn't he?"

Prime nodded. "Yes. And I am thankful for that each and every day."

"Uh huh. Well, that still does not change the President's decision. He needs something from you," Galloway gestured toward Prime, "to let you stay."

Optimus inwardly counted to ten when he heard Ironhide and Ratchet's pissed-off voices over the internal comm. Each was threatening various body parts and alternately insulting Galloway's mother, father, sister and dog. For once, Prime wished he could grant his soldiers' profane requests. Ironhide's bloodlust and Ratchet's wrench-throwing temper would make for a spectacular way to dispatch NEST's biggest critic. Maybe if he just turned his back…

Prime regained his composure, working hard to give no external clues to Galloway that might show his mounting frustration. "If your President is holding out hope I will give you any of our technological secrets, my answer is still no. You are a young race, and I fear you are not ready for weapons the strength of ours. We will have to come to some other arrangement, because on this topic, I will not yield."

Galloway bit his lip. This was going to be harder than he'd originally planned. "Then we have a problem, gentleman."

Will's fists were balled so tightly at his sides that his fingernails were cutting into the palms of his hands. The Major's heart rate jumped, the sound of his blood rushing through his body ringing in his ears. "Yeah, I'd say we do." Lennox took a step toward the government agent and intentionally invaded his personal space. Whispering, Will narrowed his eyes and addressed the politician. "What is this really about, Galloway? Are you still pissed that I dumped you out of the plane? Is this your revenge?"

Norman did nothing but adjust his glasses as Will cocked his head to the side. He looked the army officer up and down, and with words dripping with sarcastic condescension said, "No, Major. Not at all. _I_ wouldn't do something that childish, you must understand. No, this is simply about me doing my job."

Lennox wanted nothing more than to put his fist straight through the smug, fake friendly smile plastered all over Galloway's face. Instead, he settled on an equally sarcastic, "No, of course not. You're a _professional_."

Both men stared, Galloway finally yielding his gaze. Stepping back, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a report to go write to the President."

Will and Prime watched Galloway walk down the stairs and depart for his Hummer. Privately, both leaders wished a freak meteor would somehow fall on top of the pompous ass in the suit and spare them all of the trouble. Will climbed down from the catwalk as Prime folded himself down into his alt mode. Ironhide and Ratchet rolled up and joined Optimus and Will on the floor, Epps sauntering in once he saw the temptation for bodily injury had departed.

"Did you hear all that, Abby?" Will asked.

Ratchet's passenger door popped open and two tall, black platform boots poked out to find their purchase on the running board. Abby's feet hit the concrete, her face agape with barely contained surprise and rage. Gesturing wildly, she nearly shrieked, "_That's_ Norman Galloway? That…that…_ass_ is the liaison to NEST? How has no one shot him? I mean, I barely know him. Well, I don't know him, but even _I_ want to shoot him!"

Epps chuckled. "Believe me, it's been tough. That dude sucks enemy scrotum, hardcore. In fact, he probably does it literally."

Lennox raised an eyebrow at his friend's latest description of NEST's appointed political advisor. Bobby's rather colorful choices of vernacular integration never ceased to amaze the Major. Shaking his head, Lennox asked, "Epps, where the _hell _did you hear that one?"

"From Simmons," the Sergeant replied succinctly, his hand resting on the handle of his issued Springfield .45.

"Oh." Nodding, Lennox scratched his head and mused, "Explains a lot."

* * *

**Next Up**: NCIS LA finds some interesting information, and Optimus and Abby have a conversation about life, death and everything in between.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note**: Yes, I'm totally hiding in shame. My ADD-ish muse has taken over my brain, and instead of plotbunnies, I am now being attacked by rabid plot_tribbles_. I've discovered the Star Trek reboot fandom, so I do apologize for the lack of attention this story has received of late. See my author page for the litany of reasons why it looks like I gave up on this story (even though I didn't!). Story overload, lol. I have reworked this story (again) and will be focusing almost exclusively on it until I finish it. This individual part is very short, but it's supposed to serve as a bit of teaser for those of you that have been hanging in there, waiting for an update. I do promise the next part will not take three months to post. Thanks guys! The fact that you're waiting around for me to get off my ass and work on this yarn means a lot.

I took some artistic license with Galloway's first name because of one reference I was dying to let Lennox make with him that will come up later in the story. I know it's really Theodore, but I liked Norman better anyway.

**Disclaimer**: Standard 'not mine' applies to both Transformers and NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Arlington, Virginia, Residence of Norman Galloway

Norman Galloway bit his lip. The meeting with Prime and the other Autobots had not quite gone as he'd planned. Optimus was once again his frustrating, stoic, diplomatic self. Galloway truly believed that hell would freeze over before the Autobot leader divulged any of their army's weapons secrets. But, it wasn't for a lack of trying on the politician's part, however. And Lennox…if he ever saw the man in a dark alley, the litany of things he'd love to do to the major were almost too risky to put on paper. The hatred in that relationship was surely mutual.

Sighing, he climbed from his car and grabbed his briefcase from the back seat. It was nearly midnight, and the plane ride back from Diego Garcia had been long, hot, and boring. To be perfectly honest, Norman was simply glad to be back stateside to civilization. Keying in the code to the garage, he trudged wearily into his house and began dropping various items along the way to his bedroom. Scoffing, Galloway mused that part of the beauty of being single was that there was no one home to care if his tie sat in the fruit bowl for two weeks before his long-suffering housekeeper finally yelled at him to pick it up.

In his bedroom, Galloway unbuttoned his dress shirt, threw the dirty garment in the laundry basket and exited his closet. He dropped his wallet and keys on the dresser as he passed by, not bothering turn flick the lights on as he made his way toward the bathroom. He plucked a t-shirt and clean pair of underwear from the drawer for after his shower. When he turned around, Norman nearly screamed. Directly in front of him, a strange man was perched on the politician's bed, the random person absently picking his fingernails.

The man looked up, his expression calm but unnervingly intense. Jerking his head up and then down in a sort of casual greeting, he said simply, "Yo."

Just where had this guy come from? Norman blinked hard, the only movement he could force his stunned body to make. He knew for sure that the house was completely empty when he'd gotten home, the alarm still set, the door still locked. It was almost as if this new visitor had simply materialized out of thin air. His heart hammering away in his ears, Galloway slowed his breathing with a couple of deep breaths before he asked, "Just who the hell are you?" Norman mentally cursed himself as he heard his own voice shake.

The arbitrary stranger tilted his head to the side, his brown eyes glowing almost red in the faint light. "The question isn't who I am, it's what I know you want," he said cryptically. Had he been in a rational frame of mind, Galloway might have recognized the slight tint of a Slavic accent coloring the man's rough, scratchy voice.

Galloway narrowed his eyes. Logically, he should be afraid. Some rather shady person had managed to circumvent all his security and plop himself down on the bed without so much as a sound. For all Norman knew, the guy was an axe murderer, on the run from the law, the needle, or any number of raging relatives. But as logical as that notion should have been, what made sense weren't principles on which he'd ever had a solid grasp. After the whole fiasco in Egypt, Galloway had been forced to confront all his shortcomings, his predilection for flying off the handle and blaming others when it was really his damn fault at the top of the list.

It was to say of course, that Norman acknowledged the problem's existence. It didn't mean that Egypt had taught him _how_ to be logical.

The man hopped off the bed with the ease of a long time athlete. Galloway had a couple of seconds to formulate an opinion on his intruder, the only one coming to mind was how one person's face was able to accommodate double the piecing of the amount of fingers and toes humans had and still possess the ability to talk. But, before Norman could contemplate further, the man walked up and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm here because I think I can offer you a fair trade. See, my boss knows things that you know, things that no one else should," he started. "But we also know things you don't and vice versa."

Reverting back to his training borne of a lifetime as a Washington politician, Galloway replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Hellraiser's heavy metal rocker spawn raised one eyebrow, an amused expression pulling at his face. "Oh, I know you know what I'm talking about. That little fiasco in Egypt last year-"

"-was nothing but a few overzealous engineers testing a new targeting system with some AI drones," Norman interrupted.

A pause. Then, "Bullshit."

"Pardon me?" Galloway asked, incredulous.

A hard scoff escaped from the intruder. "You heard me. Bullshit. I know you know about the Autobots, Optimus Prime, The Fallen, Megatron and that goddamned rail gun."

Norman's jaw hit the floor. Composing himself again, he cleared his throat nervously. "How have you come across this information?"

"So you don't deny it?"

Galloway could have slapped himself. Some politician he was if he couldn't' bluff what was likely some desperate hacker, sniffing around to post the latest and greatest alien news on some random blog, out of the truth of Egypt. "I never confirmed or denied. I just want to know where you got your sources."

Rocker Boy produced a small recording device from the back pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the bed, hitting the play button before he let it fall from his hand. As the small device landed on the bed with a light '_thump_,' Galloway's own voice pervaded the silence of his bedroom. His own words echoed loudly in his ears. '_Excuse me! …Why hasn't the enemy left the planet? …The President is hard-pressed to say the job is getting done. …You agreed to share your intel with us, but not your advancements in weaponry. …Open invitation to Earth_.' The transmission from which the clip was recorded could only have come from one satellite, one highly _encrypted_ satellite, and Norman was at a loss to figure out how this guy managed to get his hands on it.

But, he really, really wanted to find out.

Blowing out a breath hard, Galloway planted his hands on his hips. "All right. Let's say for one minute I don't think you're a psychotic whack-job who invaded my house for no particular reason - which I do, by the way. Ignoring that fact, what is it you propose?"

A feral smile was the man's only answer as he stood up and headed for the door.

"Hello? Start talking, idiot!" Confused, Norman stared at the stranger's retreating back. Scowling, the politician grabbed a pair of gym shorts and threw them on. Shoving his feet in a pair of running shoes and snagging his keys as he passed the dresser, he chased after his uninvited guest down the stairs and through the living room. "Hey! Where the hell are you going? I want answers, dammit!"

Reaching the back door of the house, the man walked briskly to a car hidden in the shadows of the alley. He opened the driver's door and prepared to step in right as Galloway sauntered up. Norman stopped and raised one surprised eyebrow, a chuckle of pity making its way from his throat. "A Yugo? Are you kidding me?"

"It's a Lada, actually. Vintage Russian 1973 Lada 1300. It's served me well," the man said, one foot on the floorboard of the car and one still on the pavement as he patted the roof of the car reverently.

"There is no way I'm getting in that thing. Besides the fact that I have no idea who you are, that thing looks like a death trap thinly disguised as a car." Motioning toward the interior, he added, "And didn't I hear that those shift levers were set in concrete?" Galloway asked, skeptical. The rational part of his brain was finally catching up to the reeling politician, and his danger meter was on full alert.

The man's accent thickened a bit, indignation coloring the tone of his words. "There is nothing wrong with this car, only your narrow-minded, western views. Now, my name is Clarkson, and if you want to know everything about Cybertronian weapons technology to bring to your President, get in."

That was all the encouragement Galloway needed.

* * *

**Next Up**: Galloway discoverers just who his mystery guest is. ZOMG! Evil cliffhanger!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Clarkson is my first foray into creating and original character that's not just a throwaway character. The precious few other OCs I've done have all been essentially plot devices, things or people used to drive the story line forward. Clarkson is different, and I've put some significant work into him to make him believable. In any case, I hope you all like him. Any suggestions, comments or flames on OCs would be appreciated since I'm such a noob to them.

I realized after I was done writing that this chapter echoes a lot of the political sentiments here in the U.S., and quite probably around the globe. It is not my intention to make any kind of political statement about war or peace in this fic. What I wrote and how I wrote it was based on how I thought the characters would react. At times, it contradicted my own personal beliefs; other times what I was writing ran parallel to what I feel. The point is that this story is simply that: a work of fiction about giant fighting robots. Each conflict or war in which we've participated has had its merits and downfalls, and in someone's mind, there was good reason to do whatever was done. I'm not here to debate my own political beliefs. I'm here to write you guys a story, so keep that in mind, savvy?

**Disclaimer**: One of Burgess Meredith's many awesome moments in "Grumpy Old Men" says it about right when it comes to me and these two awesome franchises: "You can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which fills up first." Neither franchise is mine. Don't sue me! I have no money!

**Chapter 5

* * *

**

Unknown Location, Near Leesburg, Virginia, United States

"You're not a real talkative guy, are you?" Galloway asked, only to be rewarded with silence for the sixth time. The pair had been driving roughly twenty minutes, and up to that point, Clarkson had uttered a grand total of one word. Try as he may, Galloway simply could not engage the other man in any type of conversation, worthwhile or otherwise.

"You know, it's generally considered polite to at least acknowledge someone when they talk to you," Norman tried again.

Clarkson finally broke the figurative radio silence and snorted loudly, clearly amused. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead on the road when he replied. "I know you, Norman Galloway. You're no manners guy, so stop preachin' to the choir. Quit while you're ahead dude, and I won't laugh my ass off at you."

Galloway sputtered, the shock of being so thoroughly and correctly analyzed like a blast of cold water to his face. In a nervous gesture, he reached up to straighten his tie, his hands stopping halfway up his chest when he realized he wasn't _wearing_ a tie. Instead, Norman settled on clearing his throat. "I am polite when it suits my needs."

Clarkson rolled his eyes. "Right. Like you were polite when you met Optimus Prime for the first time. Dude could have just squished you and called it an accident, and no one would have been the wiser. I'm sure Major Lennox wouldn't have given two shits about that."

Though he was thrilled to finally hear more than non-committal grunts and even full sentences from his chauffer, Galloway was once again taken aback given the level of intel the rather odd man somehow managed to obtain. Perhaps he needed to revise his original hypothesis that Clarkson was nothing but a weekend warrior hacker. Not bothering to even play the party line of denial, Normal put his hands up, fingertips resting at the temples. "How do you know all this? Just what the hell is going here?"

Turning, Clarkson flipped an arrogant smirk in the National Security Advisor's direction. "I told you. You're going to find out as soon as we get to where we're going."

Norman narrowed his eyes. "Yes, and _where_ exactly is that?"

Pointing, the lithe man pointed with the index finger of his right hand. "Just over those hills. Be there in five, man."

Clarkson drove quietly towards the stillness of Leesburg, Virginia, finally pulling off the paved road towards an old airfield. At two in the morning, the dark without the city lights was like a blanket, and Norman was for the umpteenth time questioning the logic of his plan. Clarkson stopped the car in a clearing, obscured well by some old, tall trees patterned in the shape of a horseshoe that butted up to what appeared to be a grass runway on the other side.

"Get out."

Norman climbed out of the car obediently and took in his surroundings. There was no landing lights on the runway and certainly no control tower, so the chances that anyone would dare try to land a plane in the pitch black of night on a unpaved, unmarked runway was about as good as his chances of winning the lottery. He'd passed a small neighborhood a few minutes back, but there was nothing immediately within shouting or even sprinting range. The often ignored voice in the back of his head screamed, '_This was not your wisest idea ever, Norm_,' but Galloway stamped it down as soon as the thought could elbow its way to the forefront of his mind.

Standing there in nothing but a pair of gym shorts and t-shirt, the chill of the Eastern Seaboard night bit through Galloway's shirt like a ton miniature teeth, each set taking bites from his skin. He wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed his biceps to encourage some form of body heat production. Trying to summon a tone much braver than he felt, Galloway said, "So. We're apparently here. What now? I didn't come all the way out here for nothing, and I expect answers."

Clarkson exited the Lada, plopped down in the lush grass, and lit up a cigarette. He was content to watch it burn in his fingers instead of actually smoking the thing. Not looking up, he answered, "I think people are funny, man. I mean, we're all batshit crazy in the end, even those of us who insist we're sane. You know what I think? I think those mofos are the craziest ones of 'em all."

Norman furrowed his brows, exasperation of being taken for a literal ride and bubbling fear wearing his already very thin patience. "I don't have time for your enigmas or your riddles. I came out here because you seem to know things no other human can possibly know - you had my voice recorded from one of the world's most secure satellites, and I need to know how and why you know what you do. You said you could help me, and if you're toying with me, I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell!"

Clarkson laughed and flopped on his back in the grass. He put the smoke out between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and flicked it into the grass. "Keep your pants on, dude. I didn't bullshit you. Believe me: I wouldn't put up with your _spectacular_ company if I didn't have a very good reason."

"And what reason would that be?"

Clarkson shrugged and then with a '_zhiip_,' vanished from existence. Galloway did a double take when the Lada both men had previously occupied began to spin, clank, whir and rotate. Norman's memory registered the sounds coming from the car as that of a Cybertronian transformation sequence, sounds that Galloway had heard a few times previous from the Autobots. Instead of a beat up old white Lada, a fifteen foot tall robot stood before him, two bright red optics glowing down in Norman's direction.

Galloway shook his head. "I should have known. You're one of them, too. An Autobot."

Though Clarkson's outward appearance was most certainly different, the sarcastic but laid back personality hadn't wavered so much as a hair. "Hell, no! I ain't no do-gooder. See the optics? Red. Usually means 'Con in our world."

"'Con? Decepticon? Dammit!" Galloway squeaked and turned to run. Maybe he could make it over to those houses he saw back a ways…

Clarkson rolled his optics and took two quick strides forward. Snagging Norman by the back of the t-shirt, the Decepticon lifted him up about five feet off the ground and dumped him unceremoniously in the grass. Galloway went tumbling ass over tea kettle, settling in a most undignified pile of limbs near Clarkson's left foot. Kneeling before the politician, Clarkson pointed one finger toward Galloway's head. "Would you just calm down? If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. You annoyed me enough that the thought was tempting."

Norman righted himself and angrily brushed away dirt from his shirt and shorts. Fear warred with curiosity in his head, his stubborn male pride overruling his ingrained sense of self-preservation. He knew he should run because logically the odds of a Decepticon letting him live were slim to none. But instead, he settled on growling a terse, "What's stopping you?"

Very nearly bashing his head into the soft earth, Clarkson groaned. "You are retarded. Do you know that? How the hell did an imbecile like you get to be the National Security Advisor for the United States?" Without giving Norman any time to answer the plainly rhetorical question, Clarkson grumbled something under his breath and said, "I have not harmed you, and I have not lied to you. My boss requires something of you, and I believe we can come to a mutual agreement. I needed to show you my true form to gauge your reaction."

Dumbfounded, Galloway blurted, "Great. Did I pass?"

Turning the right corner of his mouthplates up into the same cocky smirk the human version of Clarkson exhibited, he replied, "Yeah. You did. The boss is happy with you. Says he thinks you'll do."

The wheels slowly began to turn in Galloway's head. "Wait. Boss? You mean NBE-1? You mean Megatron?"

Clarkson raised one optic ridge, looking mildly amused Galloway's first assumption was Megatron. Out loud he retorted, "Megatron? Now really, dude. If you think I like taking orders from someone who has the intelligence of a sparkling, sure, I'd work for Megatron. But I don't. At least not right now. My boss has more brains than that toaster."

The same clanking and whirring assaulted Norman's ears, and before his eyes once again, the Lada sat. The passenger's door popped open seemingly of its own accord, inviting the politician inside. With another '_zhiip_,' the human version of the Decepticon materialized out of thin air and parked himself in the driver's seat.

'_Well, at least I know how he got into my house_,' Norman absently thought. Stepping in the car, Galloway settled into the passenger's seat. At the same time, the Lada's glove compartment popped open and a small, high tech video monitor emerged. The screen flashed on, and the visage of one scary looking Decepticon appeared in some of the highest resolution the politician had ever seen.

The new 'Con was just as angular as Megatron, with the matching red optics and silver face. Galloway could clearly see he wasn't as bulky as the Decepticon leader, but he looked much more sinister, more devious. Squinting, Norman thought he could make out deep space in the background. Scratching his head, he asked, "And who might you be, now?"

"Norman Galloway, meet my boss and the true brains behind the Decepticons. He's the best intelligence officer around. Designation: Soundwave," the human Clarkson supplied, waving a hand toward the screen.

A scratchy, flat, distinctly male monotone drifted out of the Lada's speakers. "_Norman Galloway. We have been watching you. Soundwave apologizes for the inconvenience, but your assistance is required._"

Galloway threw up his hands. "It's nice to know you care. But let's get one thing straight here: you guys sought me out, spied on me, ambushed me in my home and dragged me into the middle of an airfield during the dark of night. I think all those inconveniences entitles me to ask some questions."

"_Soundwave acknowledges. The request is fair, though humans' logic flawed_," the 'Con on the screen answered.

Nodding, Norman addressed the screen, choosing, for the moment, to set aside Soundwave's assessment of his logic. "Good. Now, you seem like a reasonable being, so how did you get all this information? My voice? The information about Optimus Prime? Everything?"

"_Soundwave is still in space, currently placed on top of a satellite. The information obtained came from hacking your primitive Earth technology before The Fallen came to your planet_," the Decepticon supplied.

"We matched your voice from the original hack of the satellite to your voice from your known cell phone," Clarkson amended, picking at his cuticles. "So easy, even a sparkling could have done it. Well, if there were any sparklings left."

Norman internally suppressed a shudder. He'd heard enough from the NEST solders to know what a 'sparkling' was, and the fact that there weren't any left alive. Pushing aside his discomfort, he squared his shoulders and asked, "Can I assume that you're some sort of rogue unit, doing this of your own volition?"

Clarkson supplied the answer, beating his boss to the punch. His flippant tone and caustic words earlier spoke volumes about the level of disregard he held for the Decepticon leader, but Clarkson's next statement brought his bluntness to a new level. "You bet your ass. Soundwave is Megatron's first lieutenant, though we both think 'Ol Megsy is an idiot of astronomical proportions. How he hasn't managed to wipe out Prime yet is beyond our comprehension."

Galloway took a moment to allow Clarkson's words to sink in. There was apparently no love lost in that relationship. Even though he was no military commander, it was tough for Norman to envision anyone hating the commander as much as Clarkson apparently loathed Megatron while still obeying the officer's orders. Norman took a deep breath to help him focus. "Go on."

"_Without the Allspark or sun harvester, war has become illogical. We will only serve to decimate our race further by continuing hostilities. The Fallen was the last hope for Decepticon victory. Matrix of Leadership destroyed or missing. Sun harvester destroyed. Allspark destroyed. Our race dying_."

"Yeah, I get that. Basically, you're screwed," Galloway answered. "What I still don't get is how any of this has to do with me."

Clarkson banged one hand on the steering wheel. "Patience! We're trying to explain it, dude. Just for once in your life, shut up and listen."

Completely unaccustomed to being spoken to in that fashion, Galloway was effectively stunned into silence. Clarkson shrugged. His methods might be crude, but they got the job done.

"That's better. Now let me give you a little history lesson, since you humans are so into brooding about the past. This war has been going on nine million years, Galloway. It started over principles, and though it pains me to admit this, Megatron _was_ a good leader at one time," Clarkson began. "He promised us things like change and prosperity and equality, things the lower and middle classes didn't have. We followed him because we believed in him, and to be honest, things really couldn't get much worse. The disparity between the haves and the have-nots was appalling. And for a while, things went okay. We were making our points heard, and those asshats at the top couldn't ignore use anymore, couldn't sweep us under the rug."

"_But like all things, power corrupts. Megatron lost perspective. Made illogical choices. Would not listen to Soundwave's advice. Many sound plans failed, good soldiers lost_," the strategist added.

"The fighting stagnated, seemed to go on forever with no clear winner in sight. Everyone was restless." Clarkson's holoform took a deep breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. "The war started to become a bunch of knee-jerk reactionary and retaliation campaigns. The 'Bots would do something to us. We'd respond. They'd do something back. We kept fighting, each side gaining ground and then losing it. The last straw for a lot of us was Prime's jettisoning of the Allspark."

As morbid as it was, the concept of an alien civil war intrigued him. Galloway felt just the slightest twinge of guilt over that feeling. It was odd to know that a race of beings vastly different and far superior could fight over the very same disagreements that had consumed Earth's countries for centuries. He thought that perhaps their supremacy would have allowed them to evolve a higher sense of problem solving. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, "You didn't think about diplomacy first?"

Clarkson turned his head and fixed Galloway with a stare that would have vaporized the politician to a plume of smoke, were it physically possible. "Don't you think we tried that? The gilded, pompous leaders of our planet weren't interested in the suffering of their slum-bots. War was the only answer, and as an American, I would think you would be _well_ acquainted with the 'shoot first, ask questions later' philosophy. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that. Makes life a little simpler."

Try as he may, Galloway couldn't think of a response that would refute that. Instead, he settled on, "And, in nine million years, you haven't been able to resolve your differences without killing each other?"

Clarkson scoffed. "Nope. To be honest, I'm not sure if either side really remembers what exactly we're fighting for or against any more. There aren't that many 'Cons or 'Bots left who were around for the initial breakout of war, and those that were around are pretty jaded."

"Were you guys around?"

"Soundwave was present as the main military adviser to Megatron, his strategist. Megatron's training was that of a politician, much like yourself. Probably why he sucks as a military commander," Clarkson answered. "I was onlined right when war broke out. One of my creators went Autobot, the other Decepticon. I don't know what happened to them after that. Maybe one day I'll find out," Clarkson said with a shrug. Shaking his head, he said, "But I'm not the topic here. You are."

"Why don't you two just go to Optimus Prime and rally with his troops? I'm sure he'd welcome the help," Galloway wondered aloud. "Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?"

"It don't work like that, dude. We're 'Cons. We've been at war for too long. Prime won't trust us any further than he can throw us - and that's a long way for someone his size - and I think a couple of his officers would just rather shoot us on sight."

"Ironhide," Norman supplied, filling in the dots.

Clarkson clicked out of the corner of his mouth and pointed at Galloway in cheeky agreement. "That's the one." Shifting, the Decepticon infiltrator added, "And, there's another problem: we don't have any clue where the hell Megatron is. After Prime put the hurtin' on him during all that ruckus in the desert, he took off to lick his wounds. Even if we did just want to bail, it wouldn't do us any good to switch sides publicly before we know where to find Megatron. We have to draw him out."

"_Clarification necessary. Clarkson and Soundwave don't want to switch sides. Clarkson and Soundwave want to end the war_," Soundwave cut in. It was the first time he'd spoken in several minutes, clearly content to sit back and listen. It was what made him one of the most brilliant tacticians in the universe. "_To end the war, we must defeat Megatron. And that is why you are needed, Norman Galloway_."

As selfish as it was, Galloway couldn't help but think of the thousands of variables that had aligned to bring him to this particular crossroads of his life. Had Optimus not launched the Allspark into space, perhaps it wouldn't have landed in the Nevada desert and the Cybertronian war would still be raging on some other, far away planet. And if Megatron hadn't crashed in the ice, Sam's ancestor wouldn't have accidentally activated his navigation system. Maybe Lennox never joined the military in another life, or Glen actually finished college instead of becoming one of the best hackers on the U.S. side of the pond.

So many events had somehow transpired perfectly, Galloway wasn't sure whether to thank fate or kick it for introducing him to a couple Decepticons. Whatever came of this night could at best change his life forever; at worst it could get him killed. Was it worth the risk? Was the promise of introducing the world to the solid proof that there was more intelligent life out there? Would he be rich? Famous? The bottom line was he was tired of taking orders from other, dumber people, and maybe this was the break he needed to finally make a name for himself. In an instant, he made his choice.

Norman nodded and shifted in the seat. "Okay. I'll bite. I'm here, and I'm not dead, so why not? What do you need?"

Clarkson reciprocated by rolling his human eyes again. "Growing dissent within the Decepticon ranks meant we had to do something. We were getting our asses handed to us in nearly every battle, even in ones where we had the advantage. At first, we thought there was a mole in the 'Cons and we went to great lengths to figure out who it might be. No one trusted anyone, which says enough because we're 'Cons to begin with. We eventually figured out that we were losing because Megatron is an idiot, and figuring that out was a shock to some within our organization. Some still don't believe it. Despite that, very slowly, and _very_ quietly, we started to build up a network of trustees, other 'Cons who felt the same way we do about Megatron: he sucks."

Mumbling under his breath, Galloway quipped, "You don't pull punches, do you?"

Shrugging, Clarkson lifted his eyebrows. "I call 'em like I see 'em."

Galloway sensed Clarkson's hesitation and called him on it. "But, I sense a dilemma here".

"_Soundwave's former lieutenant has not been heard from in over two Earth years. Assumption: offline. His remains hold the key to Megatron's defeat_," Soundwave supplied. Galloway watched curiously as the Decepticon intelligence officer spoke, for his mouth didn't really move. Had he been human, his speech would have likely come out quite muffled, like a person with a surgically immobilized jaw.

"Do you want to clarify that for me, please?" the politician asked. "Who was your lieutenant?"

"_Designation: Barricade. We know you have been looking for him, Norman Galloway. Our acquaintance has a mutual goal_."

Galloway went silent for a moment as he processed the information. He didn't even bother feigning ignorance. It was painfully clear Clarkson and Soundwave knew everything about him, probably up to and including what time he took his morning dump. It was a slightly disconcerting notion. "That guy in the desert somewhere, the one that tangled with NEST a couple years back after Mission City. That one?"

"Yeah. See, what my boss here means is that there's another weapon, one we've been developing in secret for quite some time. We've been waiting for the right time to use it to overthrow Megatron and take over the 'Cons, or as we're realizing now, to end an absolutely pointless war," Clarkson supplied.

"You're talking assassination?" Galloway's voice ratcheted up a couple of notches in surprise. "If you guys off Megatron, who's going to take over the Decepticons?"

Clarkson nodded grimly. "We told you this already. Nobody wants control of the 'Cons. We just want the war to be over."

Galloway looked back at the screen to for Soundwave's explanation, willing to listen but still not one hundred percent sure he believed a bloodthirsty group like the 'Cons would just be willing to completely end hostilities after so long. He heard the resignation and fatigue in Clarkson's voice as he spoke of what seemed to be an endless war, but as a politician, trust wasn't something that came naturally to him.

"_Soundwave has one half of the machine to the weapon; Clarkson the other. Barricade had the ignition switch. We need you, Norman Galloway, to help us find the location of Barricade's remains_."

"And what is this new weapon, exactly?"

Clarkson cracked his neck and smiled. "It's a CPU degenerater. A devious one." At Galloway's shocked expression, Clarkson added, "I mean it, man. The thing's a work of art."

"How does it work?" Norman asked.

"Ah. That's the beauty of it. On the surface, it seems like a simple EMP type weapon that won't do a lot of damage, kind of how your TASERs work on humans. It's a momentary pain in the ass and nothing more. Any Cybertronian knows the standard repair for an EMP blast is to reset the affected mech's system and let everything reboot. That's where this weapon is worth its weight in gold. When it's used, the weapon delivers a tiny, undetectable data pack to any mechs in the area that will lay dormant until a system reboot is executed. The reboot will trigger a plethora of signals to start randomly firing through the processor, eventually causing a cascade failure and resulting in complete shutdown and spark failure," Clarkson explained. "It was Soundwave's idea."

Galloway's eyebrows jumped to his hairline. He was no tech guy, but the mechanics and technology involved in something like that must be astronomical. Soundwave was clearly a brilliant mech, and Norman was certain Prime was loath to be opposing him. Looking at Clarkson, he asked, "How long does it take to cause complete shutdown?"

The rocker version of Clarkson shrugged. "I dunno, man. I ain't the genius here. Ask him," he said, jerking his head toward the vid screen.

"_Incapacitation will vary by blast fic and the mech's radius from the epicenter_," Soundwave supplied, the response, like all the others, succinct and to the point.

"And you've seen it in action?"

Clarkson scratched his head. "Well see, not really."

Galloway's right eyebrow eclipsed the height of glasses. "Oh, really? You've got an a brand new weapon that you think is going to end the war, and you haven't even bothered to test the thing yet?"

"Oh, we tested it, all right. We just didn't test in on Cybertronians the size of us. We used little drones, barely sentient beings. Kind of like your animal testing, I guess," Clarkson supplied. "The science is sound, and based on the laws of physics, or so Soundwave tells me. Whatever it means, it worked on the little drones."

"Is there a reversal for it?"

Clarkson pursed his lips. "Of course, but we didn't make it. We all decided that it would be best not to have an 'antidote' as you humans may say, especially if we're going to use this on Megatron. We don't want him to be able to fix himself. It's gotta be permanent, what this thing does. But really, you humans could learn a thing or two, you know? You guys are dumb enough to make weapons you don't know how to cure. Does atomic radiation ring a bell?"

"Right. You think we're stupid. Can we move on from that, please?" Wrapping one arm around his chest and propping his opposite elbow up on his arm, Norman rested his face on his fist. "So you need my help to find Barricade. You think he's still on Earth?"

"_Soundwave received no word that he left. Logical probability he was offlined on your planet: high_."

"We haven't been able to make contact with him in a few of your months now. That's why I was elevated to 'Cade's position, and Soundwave has tasked me to find wherever the hell he ended up," Clarkson added. "We realized you'd been rooting around, and after I did some background on you, figured you might agree to what we are willing to offer."

Galloway neither confirmed nor denied Clarkson's request. He needed more information before he felt he could make a somewhat sound decision. Well, a choice made more than on simply a wing and a prayer. Instead of taking the bait, Galloway sidestepped and asked, "Well, who would kill him? Barricade?"

Without hesitation, Clarkson replied, "I'll tell you: it starts with 'Star' and ends with 'Scream'."

Norman bit his lip, deep in thought. He hated to admit it, but the proverbial wheels were beginning to turn in his head. Even listening to what they proposed was tempting, but there were too many unanswered questions and missing variables for Norman to be comfortable. To Soundwave, he said, "Not that I'm unappreciative of the offer, but why do you guys need me? You're sitting on top of my satellite. Can't you just hack it?"

"_Soundwave needs to stay quiet. Autobots have no reason to know Soundwave is still near Earth. If Autobots are aware, Megatron will know as well and will offline Soundwave for treason. Mission fails. Choice: illogical._"

"All right. If," Galloway began, stressing the 'if' in the sentence, "I agree to help you, what do I get in return? I'm going to be putting my ass on the line for you, so it's got to be good."

"Oh, believe me, politician man. It is," Clarkson replied. "How does exclusive rights to any and all Decepticon weapons, including the ones we're both currently armed with, sound to you?"

Smiling genuinely for the first time that evening, Galloway said nothing. Instead, he reached over and shook Clarkson's extended hand. When he realized he just touched what essentially amounted to a hologram, Norman pulled his hand back and examined it.

"Huh. Solid. I'll be damned."

* * *

**Next Up**: NCIS LA stumbles on to a couple of delivery boys with an interesting tale to tell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note**: After much deliberation, I've decided to post chapter six even though this story still isn't finished. I know there are a lot of people waiting on this one, and I promise you with every fiber of my being, I have not and will never abandon this fic. I love it far too much, but my brain has kidnapped and held for ransom my Transformers muses in order to let the Star Trek ones play in the sandbox for a bit. Really, I think I just have too many irons in the fire, as it were.

Hookay. Onward. Apparently, this has become a two and a half way crossover, since this chapter includes some of the gang from NCIS: LA. I say two and a half because NCIS and NCIS: LA are not two completely different franchises. So, it's like having two brothers and a random friend all partying together, I guess.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own NCIS, NCIS: LA or Transformers. Please don't sue me. This economy sucks. I have no money.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Los Angeles, California, location unknown

"You know Hetty sent on this stupid errand of hers because you pissed her off," Sam Hanna complained loudly, stepping out the NCIS issued Challenger. Leaning on the open driver's door, he added, "Really, dude. Did you have to go and blow up our best lead, and not to mention our _only_ solid piece of evidence back there?"

Special Agent G. Callen held up his hands in a gesture of mock-surrender. "Hey, man! Don't blame me. The bomb squad said it was clear. For once, this particular screw-up wasn't my fault. We're just lucky that Rosnin was a crappy bomb maker or he might have blown the entire office up, not just our desks."

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah. Blame the bomb squad. That always works."

G slammed the door shut and walked over to the driver's side of the car. Leaning on the hood, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. Callen cocked his head to the side and smirked at his partner. "And which one of us exactly was with the teams and learned how to diffuse bombs?"

"G, I swear! I was too busy trying to keep Eric in one piece when I realized the bomb had a triple redundancy trigger. I wasn't worried about defusing it. I just wanted to make sure no one got dead," Sam fired back.

"Still think you should have diffused it instead of doing your best impression of Ray Lewis. Eric's going to have nightmares about you and your flying tackle for the rest of his life," Callen replied, pushing off the car to follow Sam.

Hanna waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, it'll do the kid some good. Come on, admit it. It was pretty funny seeing Eric and me go flying Superman style through the bullpen while the Kensi's desk blew up behind us." Sam stared, unyielding, at his partner until the slightest hints of a smile formed at the corner of G's mouth. Pointing, the former SEAL exclaimed, "Ah! See! I got it!"

Grumbling lightheartedly, G responded, "Good or bad, none of what I think changes the fact that since Hetty's favorite blouse was stained by the sprinklers activating, we are now running to pick up her dry cleaning."

Sam stopped in front of the small dry cleaners and crossed his well-muscled arms over his chest. Exhaling harshly, he stared up at the sign. "Exactly what I joined NCIS to do."

G rolled his eyes and whacked Sam on the arm. "Come on. Let's pay our penance to the higher deities and get the hell out of here."

"Heard that." Sam shook his head and ambled up the steps to the door of the business.

As soon as Sam's hand hit the doorknob, he knew something was off. The danger radar, an uncanny sixth sense nearly all law enforcement officers seemed to have naturally ingrained in their heads, started blaring at an obscene level in his ears. Both Sam and G entered the small lobby cautiously, each man taking stock of the scene before them. One glance was all it took to communicate the mutual feeling of unease, and to formulate the requisite plan of attack. With the practiced effortlessness of officers long in sync with each other, Sam and G split, each man going in a different direction as they scoped out the situation inside the dry cleaners.

Two large, male patrons were at the counter talking to two oppositely sized Asian women. Though the chatter seemed to be regarding business matters, the tone and demeanor of the two men screamed otherwise. The abject fear in the eyes of the two small women confirmed it.

Sam crept up silently to stand off and behind the left shoulder of the larger man, careful to remain out of his line of sight. The action gave Hanna some time to glance over his would-be foe. On his right, G was doing much of the same. Both unknown men were well muscled, fit and well built, their statures resembling the looks of some offensive linemen from professional football teams. It was painfully obvious the pair looked more suited to fighting and brawling rather than any kind of desk job. The men wore civilian clothes, but everything about them screamed military, from the haircuts to their rather colorful language they used right down to how they stood. In the area, the sight of military personnel was hardly uncommon, so that fact alone didn't raise suspicion from either NCIS agent.

What _was_ distinctly un-military was the bulge of a large, poorly concealed handgun near the right hip of the man next to Sam. A quick glance over to G confirmed his man was carrying as well.

Thinking quickly, Sam covered his NCIS badge, snatched a clipboard off the adjacent counter and grabbed a pen. He elbowed his way through the suddenly shocked men and pushed through to behind the counter of the dry cleaners. "City inspector! I'm here for a surprise visit!" Turning toward the two women, Hanna used his entire towering frame to look as officious as possible. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to close up early today. We've received several complaints about the cleanliness of the business, and I'm here to confirm your Certificate of Operation."

The older of the two women trembled slightly. Her eyes flicked back toward the two men practically leaning over the counter. Catching the glint in Sam's eye and the flash of his NCIS badge, she relaxed just slightly. Turning her head at setting her chin resolutely, she nodded back to Sam. In heavily accented English, she said, "Yes, sir. Right this way, please. We start in back."

Nodding, Sam replied, "Yeah. Let's start with the office. I'll need to see you paperwork first."

"My daughter has key for safe. You take her, please," she replied, catching on to the fact that Hanna was not a city inspector, but a law enforcement officer with great timing.

"You know what? Why don't you both go? I'll start my work up here and you can go grab those papers for me." Sam smiled as reassuringly as he could to the women. Motioning with his head, he said, "Go on. It won't take me long up here."

The mother nodded and practically shoved her terror-stricken daughter toward the back office. "Yes, sir. We get papers for you now."

The two thugs made a move to follow, only to be stopped as Sam put his body between the hallway and the store's entryway. Turning back to the military types opposite the counter, Hanna said, "Sorry, gentlemen. You're going to have to go. Operations inspection takes priority over customers today."

The bigger man narrowed his eyes, looking at Sam's Sig hanging off his belt. "Since when do health inspectors carry? I ain't never heard of that? Have you, Bill?"

"Never, man," the smaller man replied.

Without breaking character, Sam shrugged. "It's a rough neighborhood. Do you know how many kids go to school these days carrying guns? I don't know about you, but the salary I make from the City of LA is not enough to cover unwanted bullet wounds." Placing one hand on the bigger guy's chest, Sam gently pushed him back toward the door. "Now, gentlemen. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have business to finish up here, and the store will be closed for the day."

G took a mental note of the smaller man's name as Tweedledee, as Callen had mentally nicknamed the larger man, stepped closer and into Sam's personal space. G's hand drifted down to rest on his belt just behind where his Sig was safely tucked in case Tweedledee and Tweedledumber got any bright ideas and Sam required some split-second intervention.

The bigger of the two men looked Sam up and down, a condescending smirk on his face. He clearly thought he was hot shit, but if he had the goods to back up his prolific attitude remained to be seen. He stepped up to invade Sam's personal space, practically bumping chests. "You ain't no city inspector, cop man. I can smell a cop from a mile away, and you _reek_ like the pig I know you are."

Sam cocked his head to the side, not willing to be the first man to flinch. Two could play the posturing game, and that was one game Hanna rarely lost. "Now, is that nice? I'm just a guy trying to do a job here, so if you'll leave, I won't hesitate to call the _real_ police."

Big Guy's partner stepped up and cut in between he and Sam. "Come on, man. Let's go. We don't want any of this. It ain't part of our mission, Mike."

Behind the confrontation, Callen's brows furrowed when he heard the last statement. The two men didn't look like any kind of operators they knew of, and though the LAPD wasn't exactly forthcoming on their operations, NCIS was normally privy to the bigger details. Since they'd heard nothing, whatever was going on was likely off the books or simply nefarious.

Mike, as the bigger man was apparently named, pushed his partner's hand off his arm. "No, Bill! These guys are playin' us, and I don't like it. I want to know who they are and why they're up in here right now. They're on my turf."

Bill, the smaller man, shook his head vehemently. "We need to go, Mike. We're going to miss our deadline, and we don't need the boss any more upset with us than he already is" Bill tried to physically tug on Mike's arm, the former moving toward the door.

Bill's words and actions seemed to penetrate the haze of anger Sam recognized brewing in the big man's face. Nodding, but still staring Sam down, Mike caved. Sneering, he said, "All right. We're leaving."

The two men took one last look at Callen and Hanna and started ambling their way towards the door. Sam's eyes never left the pair when they walked past. Neither NCIS agent was going to relax until the punks were out the door and on their merry way, but like most random or even planned law enforcement operations, it only took one second for things to go south. About a stride past the agents, Mike waggled his eyebrows at Bill and reached for the gun stuffed in his waistband.

Sam's eyes widened when he saw the big man reach for his gun. Options limited, the former SEAL rushed his target in an effort to disarm him. "Federal agents! Quit resisting!"

Bill, the smaller of the two men, saw his partner go for the weapon and reached down to draw his own. Callen took his own flying leap across the small entryway and tackled his man into the countertop, satisfied when Bill's nose exploded in a shower of blood and broken bones. Howling, Bill dropped his gun and grabbed his now gushing orifice of his face.

On the other side of the room, Sam and his man were both locked in a struggle for possession of the .357 revolver Mike was carrying. Sam stuck out a foot, knocking his opponent off balance. Both men went crashing to the floor, the gun flying out of Mike's hand. It skidded harmlessly to a halt on the other side of the counter, out of the reach of both Sam and his adversary. Trading punches, kicks and expletives, the two men wrestled for control, neither one willing to concede the upper hand. The big man somehow managed to wriggle out of Sam's grasp and took off at dead run through the dry cleaners and out the back door.

Hanna sprang to his feet. "G, you good?"

Callen nodded, sitting on top of Bill to keep the man from moving around. "I got him, Sam! Go around the other way!"

Hanna peeked once over his shoulder. He wanted to be sure his partner really did have a handle on their first suspect before giving chase to the other. Seeing Callen was executing a perfect wrist containment hold on his man, Hanna grunted his acknowledgment. Satisfied, the former Navy SEAL hurdled the two downed men and sprinted out the back door. "Federal agent! Stop!"

With one strong push, Sam leapt off the back porch and into the alleyway. Hanna's target scampered over boxes and through piles of garbage. He ran nearly the entire length of the alley, only to find himself trapped by a tall, rotted wooden fence. Taking one flying leap in desperation, he managed to snag a precarious hold on the top of the pickets. As he pulled his body up and hopefully towards freedom, he felt two strong hands wrap around his midsection.

Sam grabbed the belt and side of the man attempting to Spiderman over the fence. He gave one solid tug and the young man tumbled down, landing heavily on his ass. Sam made no attempt to cushion his fall. Grabbing the big man's shoulders and hauling him up, Sam quipped, "I told you to stop and you didn't listen! Look what that got you! Now you're on your way to jail, dirty, tired and sore, with a new charge for resisting arrest strapped on to your already impressive list of stupid-ass things you've done today," Sam effortlessly locked the metal bracelets he carried around the suspect's wrists. Giving him a none-too-gentle shove, he barked, "Move it. Now."

Hanna walked his catch back into the dry cleaners, marginally unsurprised to find a rather humorous argument taking place between G and Bill. Callen was on the phone, presumably calling in back up while Bill sat on the floor, spewing forth both blood and obscenities at anyone within a five-foot radius. Dripping blood from his nose all over the floor, he paused in his rant at an unimpressed G and yelled at an entering Sam, "Your partner broke my goddamn nose!"

G stood up and wiped the blood off his hands using Bill's shirt. Rolling his eyes, Callen spoke slowly, as if he was talking to a petulant five year old and was explaining the same thing for the fourth time. "You heard my partner. He said 'federal agents' and told you to stop resisting. That's what happens when you get stupid. You tend to get hurt."

Bill, still on his knees, glared up at Callen through already swelling eyes. "This was en-en-en-something!"

G raised an eyebrow at Bill's spectacular display of stupidity. "Entrapment? I hate to break it to you, but in order to claim that as a valid defense, you at least have to be able to say it properly. Knowing what it really is would also be a good start." Callen reached around to his back pocket and produced a pen to lock the handcuffs at their current tightness. He slid the pen into the hole in the cuffs around Bill's wrists and then pulled the man to his feet. "Up we go. Time to go to the big boys' room."

* * *

Sam and G strolled back into NCIS carrying two new arrestees and sans Hetty's dry cleaning. The two men handed off their catches to a couple of probies, the junior agents tasked with showing Mike and Bill the inside of the interrogation room. Walking by the bullpen, Kensi raised one questioning eyebrow but said nothing. Both NCIS agents stopped in front of Hetty's desk, fully expecting the wrath of which her diminutive person was overly capable.

Hetty didn't bother looking up. Instead, she kept reading the previously open report spread out on her desk, the reader glasses she wore perched on her nose. G and Sam tried desperately not to fidget as their boss signed off on the paperwork. Putting her pen on her desk and pulling of her glasses, Hetty made eye contact with her agents. "I send you to get my dry cleaning, and not only do you return without it, you bring back more riff-raff that shouldn't be NCIS' problem in the first place."

"Nice to see you, too, Hetty," G quipped.

"Yeah. Don't mind us. We're okay. We didn't just stop a random armed robbery and get in a fight," Sam added.

"You're highly trained federal agents. What do you want? A pat on the back?" Hetty asked, a bit of her sarcasm peppering her words.

G and Sam exchanged glances. "No, but a, 'Nice job,' wouldn't hurt every once in a while."

Hetty smiled, fully aware both Sam and Callen knew she was yanking their chains. It was part of her job, and truthfully, it was quite amusing. "Now then. What did you bring me today, other than what I sent you for?"

Without missing a beat, Hanna answered, "Two of the dumbest criminals on the face of the Earth."

Hetty guffawed a bit. Folding her hands in front of her, she said, "Coming from you two, that's an accomplishment. What were they up to that made your senses go crazy?"

G shrugged, his demeanor going from easy going and laid back to the highly trained investigator and agent he was. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. We went to pick up your dry cleaning, and while we were there, we both got this really strange vibe off two guys in the store. The little Asian ladies that worked there were terrified, and rightfully so. Both idiots were packing heat, and when the big guy went to draw down on us, we paired off and started to dance."

Hetty's eyes took a look at G's shirt and pants, each item torn and blood splattered. Pointing, she said, "I can apparently see that. I hope that's not yours."

Callen looked down. "Nope. Not mine." G scratched his head. "But I will be putting this on my expense report."

"Yes, I figured as much. A man like yourself can't go without the snazziest threads in town, right? You have to be, 'Off the hook,' as you young people say. Did I get that right?"

Sam threw back his head and laughed. Pointing at his boss, he said, "That's pretty good, Hetty. Maybe you are learning a thing or two from us."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Now, are the two store employees all right? That place has undergone so much in the last few years, I'd hate to see another thing like this happen to them," Hetty asked, obviously concerned for the welfare of her acquaintances.

"They're fine. Shaken up, but fine. I'm just glad we were there to help 'em out," Sam answered.

"Good. Now, Callen, go get changed and I want both you two to get to the box. I'd like some answers on why those two morons would rip up my favorite dry cleaners." Hetty grabbed her glasses and put them back on, effectively ending the conversation.

Sam and G turned for the exit. Over his shoulder, Sam tossed a, "Not NCIS' problem, huh?"

* * *

An hour and twenty minutes, one shower, one fresh change of clothes and one interrogation plan later, Sam and G were about to head into the box to talk to their respective catches. During the sweat time, Eric had since discovered the two men were Bill Worcheski and Michael Sutton respectively, and that between the two of them, they shared a twenty-one page rap sheet and multiple incarcerations for both misdemeanor petty crimes and serious, violent felonious offenses. One look of the sheet made it clear that Sutton was the instigator in almost all the run-ins with the law the two faced; it was equally as clear that Sutton knew fully he could exploit a simple-minded, authority-hating man such as Worcheski.

Armed with folders on each man, Sam and G decided to divide and conquer, Hanna taking Worcheski and Callen taking Sutton. Sutton clammed up as soon as G walked through the door and refused to say anything further, repeating only one word: lawyer. Both Hanna and Callen had been at the game long enough to know when to cut their losses and move on, and it appeared that Sutton had taken copious mental notes on what not to do during an interrogation during his multiple run-ins with the law.

Callen walked out the room shaking his head. Perhaps his partner was having more luck with Worcheski because they sure as hell weren't getting anything out of Sutton. G made his way over to the secondary interrogation room and let himself through the door.

Sam was leaning hard on Worcheski, and Callen could see the man was beginning to break. "I don't care what your buddy _told_ you to do! You're a grown man. You can make your own choices and say no, and you didn't. Whatever comes of this dude, it's your fault and no one else's. You're going down for this, man. Ain't that right, G?"

Callen recognized his cue and answered, merrily lying through his teeth. "Yeah, man. Your buddy? You might want to consider some new friends, because as soon as I dropped the idea of sending him to Leavenworth for the rest of his life, he started singing like a canary."

"See, you two honkies made a very big mistake. Well, you made a couple mistakes, but the big one put you in my house. Oh yeah," Sam nodded, the sarcasm and disdain in his voice matching that of his facial expression. "That dry cleaners you tried to rob today? They have a contract with NCIS, which also puts them under our jurisdiction." Sam hoped he was as good of liar as G, for there was no agreement whatsoever in place. And even if there were, NCIS would have no reason to send them to the military prison for a crime committed in an entirely civilian jurisdiction.

Callen was glad he and Hanna shared a law enforcement mental wavelength, because both NCIS agents were sure there was nothing Worcheski and Sutton could be charged with by a federal agency. Neither man witnessed any crime other than resisting arrest. Both only had their gut instincts to go on that a robbery was about to take place, and they were sure they had stopped said robbery. The only question remained was why the two would be knocking over a dry cleaners instead of the classic convenience store.

G walked forward into the room and picked up the chair Sam recently vacated. He flipped it around and sat in it backwards. Resting his chin on the table, he said, "Now. Bill. You have a pretty impressive resume. You've done a lot of stuff, but I need some answers here if you don't want me to send you to Leavenworth. Like I said, your buddy has totally hung you out to dry, so you'd best start talking if you want to have a prayer to see the light of day ever again."

"What do you want me to say? I don't know anything!" Bill was tense, his words and tone clipped and irritated.

Sam shrugged, his tone sarcastic. "Well, I dunno, man. Why don't you start with the truth? I always heard that works pretty well."

Bill buried his head in his arms, cursing when smacked his sore nose on the top of the handcuff. "You guys would never believe me. It doesn't even make sense, and I was there."

"Why don't you try us? Contrary to what you think, not all cops are boring with no sense of imagination," Hanna supplied.

"I doubt you've seen this shit."

"What shit?" Hanna asked, lifting his fingers up to make 'quotation fingers' in the air.

"I won't even try to explain," Worcheski said after a deep breath. He was clearly trying to summon bravado he didn't have. Leaning back in his chair, Bill looked Sam in the eye. "We didn't really do anything wrong."

Sam cut him off before he could say anything else. "You didn't do anything wrong? Where I come from, armed robbery is definitely 'something wrong' and you'll do well to tell us exactly why you and your buddy were hitting that dry cleaner up."

"Armed robbery? What are you talking about? We were just there asking for direction," Bill answered smugly.

Callen rolled his eyes. "'Asking for directions' my ass. You two were there to do nothing other than to rob the place, and the only reason you didn't was because my partner and I stopped you." Consulting his file for show, Callen added, "Now, with what your friend told us, I have enough to charge you and you alone with the crime, so I suggest you think about what you're saying before it comes out of your mouth."

Worcheski looked at the wall of the box. "Whatever, man. It wasn't even that serious. No one got hurt, and no one was ever _going_ to get hurt."

Hanna mentally smiled, catching the momentary slip up. "No one was going to get hurt? Sounds like a plan to me, G. I think these guys went in knowing they were going to rob the joint."

"No!" Worcheski cut in, a little too quickly, a little too loudly, and much too desperately. "I didn't mean it like that. I-dammit!"

Hanna and Callen both bit the insides of their mouths. They knew they had him on the hook; the key now was getting him to talk.

Bill ran his hands through his hair, the shackles hitting him in the face and earning another curse from the suspect. "I didn't mean it like that. So we may have gone in there to case the place, but we didn't intend to do anything. We didn't _do_ anything, so I'm not sure why I'm even here."

"Try battery of a federal agent and resisting arrest. If I could add 'stupid' to that list, believe me, I would," Hanna scoffed.

"Your friend told me that you were going to rob the place, so that excuse doesn't work with me. I want to know why you were doing it, and if you don't start talking, I'm just going to get my pen out and start writing. And when I do, it's going to be for every felony, misdemeanor and civil ticket I think of!" Hanna half-yelled, turning up the heat on the suspect.

"No, man! I'm just a grunt, plain and simple. I do jobs, and that's it. I've never gotten into any serious shit until now! God, what did I do that was so terrible! I already told you no one got hurt, other than me!"

Callen raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Oh, really? You don't think armed robbery constitutes not hurting someone? Because last time I checked, felonies are felonies since they normally involve others being hurt. What's your excuse? And you can't use stupid. You're going to prison for a very long time for this one, Bill. And you're not doing yourself any favors here."

His façade finally cracked, and the real Bill Worcheski came pouring out. It was almost painful to watch the transition from the cocky, arrogant man who was clearly a cover to conceal a scared, immature person who never really grew up. Perhaps it was drug addiction or learned behavior that prevented a sense of maturity, but for whatever reason, Worcheski finally decided that enough was enough. He sighed, the breath coming out in shaky gasps. "I don't have an excuse! Look, I know the robbery thing is terrible, and I was an ass to you guys back at the store, but we just needed the money. Our latest job didn't go like we thought it would, and it was taking us more money than we thought to complete it," Bill supplied. The information was vague, but it was infinitely better than what G managed to extract from Sutton.

Hanna stood, walking over to the edge of the table and snatching the folder. "Yeah, let's talk about that, shall we? Your file says you applied to the United States Marine Corps and that you were admitted to Parris Island ten years ago. Only took you three days to wash out. Your fitrep was a mess. And after trying and failing to work for several Blackwater groups, you ended up a petty criminal. You're a wannabe military guy. You can't do it. So, tell me what reason I have to listen to a word that comes out of your mouth."

Bill sat, silent and staring. Fiddling with his fingers, he said quietly, "I guess you just have to trust me."

G leaned in and half whispered in Worcheski's ear, "I'd tell him what he wants. Real military guys don't like the fake ones. He's real military, and you're a fake one, if you needed clarification. He's not very pleasant when he gets like this, and my partner here gets mad when he sees idiots like yourself disrespecting the uniform."

Still unable to speak, Worcheski continued to stare.

Hanna scoffed. "Fine by me, man. Say nothing. I'm just gonna ship your ass over to Leavenworth, and I'll let the MPs down there sort your crap out."

"Wait! Please don't send me to Kansas! I'm not-I'm not a threat to you!" Worcheski pleaded. He was desperate not to go to one of the most notorious prisons in the country, and if that meant hanging his employer out to dry, so be it. "I mean it, man!"

"Time's up. You ran out of chances," G said. He and Sam effortlessly hauled Worcheski to his feet.

Bill looked from Hanna to Callen and back again, eyes wide and frightened. "I have information to trade. Information about a top-secret alliance with aliens from another planet. I know it sounds crazy, but I am telling you the truth."

Sam and G exchanged amused glances. "Look, whatever drugs you're on, you really need to give them up, man. That's about the most pathetic story I've ever heard, and I've heard some really bad excuses." Stopping, Callen tapped Sam's arm. "You know what? I think that might even be worse than saying the dog ate my homework!"

"No kidding, man. I tried that excuse once, and all it got me was detention. Of course, I was still in junior high, and not under arrest for attempted armed robbery," Sam retorted, scoffing hard. "Nope. You two losers are on the first transport to Leavenworth in the morning."

Worcheski's eyes were wide. "I'm telling the truth! We were hired last week by some strange, Russian or something guy. He said that we needed to go somewhere to do a job for him. Told us he'd let us know where the job was going to be as soon as he confirmed the location. He called us a couple of days ago and told us we needed to get to Nevada to retrieve some super secret piece of technology for him! He said that last year's accident at Mission City wasn't a failed government experiment, but aliens from another planet fighting. He told us that he couldn't go because of a friend of his, but that he would talk us through the extraction or something."

"You believe him?" Hanna asked Callen, pointing at Worcheski.

"Not at all. But, I suppose we could entertain him, even if it is just to have something to add to the wall of shame," G answered.

Hanna nodded, a cheeky grin on his face. "Sounds good, man."

Sam plopped back down on the table, sitting on it with one leg hanging over the side. "Let's say for a minute I believe your crazy-ass story." He shrugged. "So? What good does it do us?"

"Enough. I'll tell you what's going on. I'll tell you what I know." Bill was shoved rudely back in the chair he previously occupied. "Jesus! Do you guys have to be so rough?"

"We're not being rough. If I really wanted to hurt you, I'd toss you through the trap door over there and let the sharks and gators do what they wanted to you," Hanna said, perching himself on the edge of the table. Placing his fingertips on the cracked and chipped wood, he leaned in so his face was just inches from Bill. In a low voice, he growled, "Now. Talk. I ain't got all day."

Worcheski groaned. "All right, man. Some guy came to us the other day. Said he found us through a few friends of ours, and said he had a job for us to do. He gave us some coordinates to get to, and we were supposed to go and retrieve a part for him. We checked the coordinates, gave him a quote based on previous experience and told him we'd call him once we got to the site."

"So, what'd you screw up?" Hanna asked.

Worcheski laughed a mirthless, self-deprecating chuckle. "For once, it wasn't my fault. Sutton was the one who checked the coordinates the first time around. Only, when we took the job, we didn't ask what city we were supposed to be in. Sutton grabbed the wrong coordinates off the table before we left, and instead of Nesbitt Lake in Nevada, we ended up here in LA."

"And I'm guessing your bosses are not pleased," Callen supplied, covering his hand with his mouth to stifle his laughter. These two were truly a partnership of idiots, and their inability to properly operate was likely a reason for their failures with the real U.S. military.

"Very astute," Worcheski snarked back. "Our handler called us today and asked us where the hell we were. When we told him LA, he blew up. Said that we weren't even in the right state. That's why we were robbing the store, because we needed the quick cash to get to Nesbitt, where we're supposed to be. The guy only paid us a quarter up front, the rest when we bring him back his part."

"I think you guys need to rethink your negotiation strategies. I wouldn't do it unless I got half down," Hanna quipped.

"Yeah. I'll know for next time."

"You know, I still ain't heard what's so great about this job of yours, even if it does exist. I need details, man," Sam pressed, his patience with Worcheski wearing thin. "What are you supposed to retrieve? And who is it for?"

Worcheski smirked, the cocky bravado slipping back into place. "Ah. See, that's the million-dollar question. It's not 'what' we're retrieving, because our handler didn't tell us that. We didn't get that far. It's for whom we're retrieving it."

"And who might that be?" Callen asked.

"He's not human, that's for sure. He's twenty feet tall and moonlights as a piece of shit Lada who has red eyes and a really sarcastic temper. Said his kind were responsible for that alien attack in Mission City a while back, the one everyone else was dumb enough to believe was a military experiment gone wrong." Worcheski sat back and grinned when he was both Sam and G's eyebrows shoot up. "Yeah. That's what I thought, too."

"Keep talking, dude. I want to hear everything you know," Hanna answered. He was glad, for once, that it was standard policy to record each and every interrogation, because he wasn't sure he'd be able to transcribe the notes for this particular conversation. Before Worcheski began his tale, Hanna leaned over and whispered in Callen's ear, "I think we're going to need to make a call."

G's face was set, grim as he listened to the nearly impossible tale being woven by their talking suspect. He was caught somewhere between incredulous and disbelieving. He exchanged glances with his partner. "Yeah. Me, too."

* * *

**Next Up**: Abby and NEST get inklings of what Clarkson and Galloway have been up to.


End file.
